Project Blackbird
by Objessions
Summary: Objessions and Gib went down the rabbit hole after the end of Season 2. This is their collaboration in creating an alternative way forward after Mac walks out of Phoenix. Mac finds out that Oversight was up to a lot more than manipulating him into a job.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N - Project Blackbird. Brought to you by Objessions and Gib.**_

 _ **An action junkie and a science nerd are teaming up. That can only go well in this fandom.**_

 _ **Welcome to the dark rabbit hole of an AU that takes place after the end of Season 2. Instead of splitting this up and alternating chapters, we are really co-writing. We're working via google doc, so the flow will be based on how often we can work together on this.**_

 _ **As always - We own nothing. We're just here to have fun.**_

Chapter One

Mac rolled over and stretched comfortably. It was early, much earlier than he'd rolled out of bed on a weekend day in several months, but he could smell coffee, and hear the muted sounds of his about to be former roommate quietly lugging boxes out to the truck he'd rented for the weekend.

A few trips across town and Boze would officially be cohabitating with his getting-pretty-serious girlfriend. Mac smiled to himself, but didn't open his eyes just yet.

It was too nice to wake up not covered in bruises, or stitches, or just kicked to crap exhausted and jet lagged, to rush himself awake on one of his very predictable days off from his new job, or to hop right out of bed and start running boxes, whether he'd promised to help Bozer move in to Leanna's place or not.

Mac stretched again, this time positively grinning at how comfortable he was. Up until he'd quit the Phoenix, Mac didn't think he'd woken up not sore somewhere since his second day of Basic when he was still a teenager. Now it was just how he expected things to be.

Working on a design team for Tesla in Hawthorne was surprisingly stimulating, and delightfully not dangerous. Mac had worried that he wouldn't find the work meaningful, but instead the company put everything into the perspective of making the world a better place. And not in a theoretical way.

Everything; every request, every demand, every order, came with extensive explanation and justification. No one was expected to just accept a directive without having access to all the research, or without access to direct answers to questions and concerns.

He almost didn't know how to feel about that. After about a month, Mac decided that how he felt was valued, safe. He'd expected to miss his life as a Phoenix operative, expected to spend more time thinking about why Oversight had just dropped off the map.

Mostly he was grateful. If he'd never learned the truth about his father, his life might still be being manipulated. Instead, he knew about how his life had been hijacked, and had been able to walk away. And he'd even thought about going back after his father disappeared again, once Matty took on the lead administrative role at the Phoenix. Ultimately, he didn't trust that the disappearance was genuine. Besides, the offer from Tesla had been too attractive, and once he'd tried it out, the work itself was too much fun.

The worst thing that had happened to him at his new job was he'd accidentally crushed his thumb a little bit working on a prototype, and his lab partner had just sterilized a drill bit for him to he could relieve the pressure from the resulting blood blister, and the two of them had a beer after work and laughed about it.

Speaking of overreaction to even minor injuries, Mac snorted with laughter, it was probably about time to text Jack. If he was back from the most recent mission with Phoenix … Mac's brow furrowed briefly with the thought that Jack had promised to text him as soon as he was safe home and hadn't blown up Mac's phone yet … he'd promised to help Mac get Boze moved across town.

Mac might have overplayed how much his shoulder was still bothering him from the through and through Murdoc had inflicted supposedly saving his life, but he couldn't even feel bad about it. Part of him was feeling weirdly unsettled about the idea of occupying Harry's house all on his own, part was happy about it and felt like a bad friend to Bozer, and the other part was just missing spending time with Jack.

Jack did his best to come over, have dinner, drink too much, and watch bad action movies when he had time off. But Phoenix was Phoenix, even without James at the helm, and Jack was gone on secretive, clearly dangerous (if the ongoing slings and bandages, were any indication) missions, all too regularly.

Today was promised. And that meant a long stretch of just being with his friends, and maybe relaxing by the fire pit all on his own with Jack later, to have a quiet talk. Something they hadn't managed in a while.

Finally Mac pried his eyes open, glanced at the digital display on his phone, and sent a quick text to see if things were still going to work out as he'd hoped today.

0-0-0

Jack opened the door and sidestepped through. A quick sweep of the place told him nothing had been disturbed. He sent a silent thank you to the powers that be that his place remained untouched for a change.

Shouldering the door closed, he tossed his keys on the table and dropped his gear bag near the door. God, he was tired.

After a somewhat lengthy debrief at Phoenix, where he reported that yes, the ambassador was safe, no, there was no more collateral damage than necessary, and yes he knew just how much a Cessna Citation Mustang cost, Jack decided he didn't want to hang out at Phoenix any longer than necessary and truth be told, the shower at his place was ten times better than anything the Phoenix had, thanks to Mac.

When he first moved in, Jack had complained about the water pressure in the building. Of course, Mac had done his thing and made the shower one of the best things in the place; besides the barber chair and the TV, before it was tv-napped. Again.

Jack let the water cascade over stiff muscles. _God, I'm gettin' old_ , he thought, making a mental to-do list that started with nuking something from the freezer and sleeping for a week. He'd have to do laundry eventually. And he needed to check in with Mac.

His brow crinkled, there was something he was supposed to do on Sunday with the kid. Crap, what day was it? He mentally calculated what day they had left on the mission, a few things that had happened to mark the time and ... Counting the days on his fingers, he suddenly realized it _was_ Sunday.

"Dammit."

He'd almost totally forgotten that he'd offered to help Mac move Bozer.

He shut the water off, grabbed a towel, and picked up his watch. The timepiece confirmed his mental calculations of the day. Jack sighed and picked up his phone.

Sure enough, Mac had sent a text asking if he was still available for moving day. He replied with a thumbs up emoji. A promise was a promise. And how hard could moving Boze be? Half the junk in Mac's house actually sorta belonged to Mac, he thought. At least he hoped anyway.

After toweling off, Jack padded toward the bedroom, giving his oversized, insanely comfortable, orthopedic, worth every penny, bed a longing look before grabbing some fresh clothes.

As he sat on the edge of the bed to tie his boots, his stomach growled reminding him that he hadn't eaten anything substantial in quite a while. Grabbing his phone, he sent Mac a text. _Oscar Mike. Bringing bagels._

A bagel wasn't exactly the nuked mac n cheese, or beer, he was looking forward to, even though it was early enough that the roosters were still probably waking up, but once normal sleep patterns got all out of whack, the rules of eating certain things at certain times of the day just didn't apply.

A nice fresh warm bagel from the little mom and pop place on the way to Mac's would have to do. He could have a beer later. Maybe with a nice big slice or four of pizza to go with it.

0-0-0

By the time Bozer offered them pizza and beer as a thank you for their help, it was dark out, and Mac could tell Jack was bone tired. He declined for both of them, then pulled Bozer into a brief embrace. "I'll miss having you right up the hall, man."

"I hate leaving you all on your own after everything that …" Boze started.

"Boze, I'm happy for you," Mac interrupted with a laugh. "What I was going to add was … But I hope Leanna knows what she's getting herself into. Lady Gaga on full volume to go with her five a.m. waffles isn't for the faint of heart."

Bozer laughed as Mac stepped back, grinning. "You're gonna miss my five a.m. waffles and _my poker face, my my my poker face_ ," he sang.

Mac shook his head. "I'm sure I will, Boze." He glanced at Jack who was absently rubbing a hand over his stubble, a sure sign to Mac that the man hadn't slept in a while. "And I appreciate the dinner invite, but I really want to head home and put my place back together."

Bozer nodded. "It was kinda trashed. Oh, hey, hang on a sec." He darted into the kitchen where Leanna was trying to figure out just where to put all of Bozer's kitchen tools.

While he was gone, Mac cocked an eyebrow at Jack. "When did you get back from … wherever?"

Jack shrugged, "Last night."

Mac gave a knowing little head shake. He knew from Jack's guarded tone that he'd probably come almost directly to help him today from the debrief. "You didn't have to do this today, man. We could have handled it."

Jack patted him lightly on the shoulder. "I'm not gonna bail on a promise to you, kid."

Mac was about to reply when Bozer came back with two gift bags. He gave one to Mac and one to Jack. "If you're not gonna let me feed you, you can't leave with the thank you for your help gifts Leanna got for you guys."

Jack looked in his bag and grinned at Bozer. "How the hell does your girl know my favorite bourbon is Maker's?"

Boze laughed. "I'd like to just say cuz she's a spy, but she asked Riley."

Mac had taken his gift out and was looking at it carefully. "This is really cool, Boze. Thanks."

Jack looked over Mac's shoulder. "Miniature drone kit, huh? Compared to my present I think maybe you got the short end of the stick, but I can tell from that dopey grin you don't think so."

A few minutes later they headed back to Mac's in his Jeep. Mac laughed softly to himself when he saw Jack try to suppress a couple of jaw cracking yawns. The dude needed to sleep. He looked like somebody who'd maybe had a short nap in the last three days and Mac knew from experience that pretty soon it was going to hit the guy hard.

The drive from Bozer and Leanna's house wasn't that far by L.A. standards, but with traffic, even on a Sunday night, distance didn't really mean anything. Jack was finding it harder and harder to stay awake, even if Mac was the one doing the driving, and was doing his best to add some more grey to Jack's already considerable crop of it.

By the time they'd made it onto the freeway, Jack's eyes had drifted shut and Mac could hear the occasional soft snore coming from the passenger's seat.

He smiled, adjusting the air conditioning and the radio to drown out the car horns of the impatient Angeleno's, but not so much as to wake Jack in and of themselves. Although he had to admit, Jack had an uncanny ability to sleep just about anywhere, through anything if he knew he wasn't under threat. He also had an uncanny ability to wake up at a pin drop if he knew anything might go south.

When Mac turned into his driveway, Jack jerked awake, quickly taking in his surroundings. "Sorry dude, didn't mean to nod off on ya," he said, scrubbing a hand down his face.

"I figured you could use a power nap, besides traffic was a mess tonight," he said ruefully. "You should be glad you missed it."

"Glad I did. How many people did you ..." He stopped mid sentence and scowled as he stepped out of the Jeep. "Porch light's out."

Jack knew for a fact Mac had a timer on the light and it was a bulb that supposedly didn't ever have to be replaced. He was instantly on alert.

"Well, I used to have a timer but _you_ packed it," he shrugged, shutting the driver's side door, pulling his phone out, and turning on the flashlight app.

"I didn't pack anything that looked like a timer, dude," Jack said, reaching for his pistol, all traces of sleep gone from his mind and his appearance.

"Jack," Mac began in his best 'must placate the overwatch' tone.

Jack cautiously moved up the path toward the front door, intent on clearing the house. "Shut that thing off!" he whispered, waving an irritated hand at Mac's phone/flashlight.

"I could make some night vision goggles out of some stuff in the garage if that would make you feel better," Mac joked.

Well, it was sort of a joke. He easily could. He'd thought about doing so with an old camera of his grandfather's that he'd found recently anyway. But that certainly wasn't necessary now. Mac just shook his head and walked around the Jeep to shut the door Jack had left wide open after switching into Delta Dalton Combat Mode.

"Jack," Mac tried again to get Jack to calm down and listen for a minute. Since the Murdoc incident last fall, Jack had been a little more hair trigger with getting protective, not to mention jumping to conclusions.

"Shhh," Jack shushed Mac, continuing toward the door, eyes constantly scanning the area.

Mac sighed and leaned against the Jeep, folding his arms. Jack continued on his forward progress toward the door. "Jack!" he called out loudly. "There's nothing wrong with the light, man. Relax."

Jack stopped his forward progress and looked toward Mac. If the kid was yelling at him, when noise discipline was the order of the day, either Mac had forgotten everything he'd ever known about tactically critical situations when he turned in his credentials at Phoenix, or Mac knew something he didn't.

The kid was no dummy, so that left the latter.

"Jack, I told Boze he could have the timer because he'd feel better with one as a little security measure, and I've been working on a new model anyway. I watched you pack it," Mac explained calmly, trying to convince Jack there wasn't anything amiss before he'd have to add wood putty and a new front door to his weekly shopping list. "It doesn't actually look like a timer, more like a cube with a little triangle and a small cup on it."

Jack stood up, lowering his weapon as he looked away from the door toward Mac. "Was is about yay big?" Jack asked indicating with his thumb and forefinger.

Mac shoved off the Jeep and walked up to his former partner. "That'd be the one." Mac patted Jack on the shoulder and shined the light at his own chin, highlighting his face. "Sorry buddy, no bad guys here."

Jack holstered his pistol and massaged the back of his neck, face screwed up in an expression that was both thoughtful and plainly worried.

"Just cuz you don't work for you-know-who anymore, doesn't mean you can let your guard down. You know that right?"

Mac rolled his eyes, starting up the path, shouldering by Jack. "Yes, Jack. I am fully aware. Since every time you come over, you remind me."

Jack took two quick strides to catch up to Mac. "I don't remind you every time," he grumbled defensively, "Once or twice a week maybe, but not like every day, man." He stepped in front of Mac effectively blocking the door, just as Mac was going to insert the key. "You sure the light's out because of the triangle timer thingy?"

Mac rolled his eyes and lightly shoved Jack to the side. "Yes, Jack, I'm positive. Now, unless you plan on staying here tonight and helping me put my house back into relatively one piece, you should go home and get some sleep. You're getting the kind of paranoid you only get after," Mac looked up like he was doing some mental calculations. "Like four days without real sleep."

Jack sighed. The kid knew him awfully well. It had been almost exactly four days with nothing more than naps and he was starting to feel a little ragged around the edges. He followed Mac through the door and skated smoothly around him as Mac turned off the alarm. Despite Mac's reassurances, he was still on edge and quickly scanned the house as Mac flipped on the lights and headed into the kitchen. Not seeing anything out of the ordinary, other than the practically bare cupboards and missing knickknacks, Jack finally relaxed.

Mac opened the fridge and surveyed the contents. "You want a beer before you take off?"

Jack shook his head. "Nah, I'm good." He sighed. "So, you really don't need any help with … well, whatever you plan on doing?"

Mac glanced around the house. "There really isn't anything for you to do. Like I said, you should go get some sleep. Or you're more than welcome to crash here if you want." Mac indicated Bozer's recently vacated room. It still had a bed and everything, since Leanna already had a fairly luxurious King size bed she wasn't about to trade out for Bozer's lumpy full size. "If you're too tired to drive."

"Nah, I'm good. Got my fifth wind and all that. I could give you hand here." He waved around the house. "Besides, what kind of friend would I be if I bailed on ya and left you here all by yourself on the first night. I mean, after the year you've put in."

Jack bent over and picked up a piece of packing tissue, wadded it up and tossed it toward the kitchen sink, pumping a fist slightly at hitting the mark. He realized he was nearly mirroring Bozer's words from earlier.

He knew he was being over protective and it wasn't like Mac hadn't ever stayed by himself, but Jack just wanted to make sure Mac was okay with the whole no more roommate thing and an empty house. The kid hadn't exactly had the best sleep habits since Jack first met him, and the events of the last year or so had compounded those habits.

Mac knew Jack didn't want to leave him alone and if he thought about it, he should be pissed his friend was so worried about it. If it were anyone else he'd inform them that he was a grown-ass man, thank you very much, and he was perfectly capable of sleeping alone just about anywhere, say nothing about his own, very comfortable, and familiar, bed.

But this was just Jack. His Jack. The guy that genuinely cared about him and didn't want anything from him other than friendship. The same Jack that was loyal enough that if he so much as hinted he needed help moving a bookshelf or reorganizing his kitchen, Jack would stay for as long as he needed, even if he was almost asleep on his feet. The Jack who proudly called him brother, and who proclaimed himself a helicopter parent to anyone who would listen. And most of the time Mac really appreciated that. But Jack looked genuinely beat.

Mac decided to give Jack an out he couldn't refuse.

"Look, honestly I was planning on reorganizing my stash of robotic components I've had stuffed in the closet for a couple of years. You can hang out here and watch if you want, but it's pretty technical and it might take a while. That's all I'll probably get to tonight."

It wasn't an out and out lie. He did have robotic components in the closet. But it was a small bin full that happened to be very organized. It _was_ in the closet though.

Jack sighed, then smirked. "And watch you energizer bunny your way through a bunch of nerdy junk until the sun comes up. No thanks, dude."

Mac pushed Jack's arm a little, steering him toward the door. "Go home, get some sleep. I'll be sure and call you if I need help sorting servos."

Jack fished his keys out of his pocket, and laughed. "I wouldn't be able to tell what's trash and what's some world savin' gadget you've got in the works. Next thing you know I'm being blamed for the robopocalypse. Besides, you're the idea guy in this relationship. Think I'm gonna listen to you and head on home, sample that nice bottle of Maker's, and hit the hay."

Mac rolled his eyes affectionately. "I wouldn't let you touch the important stuff anyway, Jack. You know that," he teased as he walked his friend the rest of the way to the door.

"Yeah, well, just the same, I'd prefer not to be responsible for the end of the world there, genius." Jack walked out onto the steps and turned. "Get this damn light fixed will ya? 'Bout gave me a freaking heart attack, thinking somebody busted in here."

"I'll get it fixed, Jack, Scout's honor." Mac chuckled, hitting the switch that turned on the floodlights that lit up the yard and parking area as Jack walked toward his car that had been parked there since early that morning.

"Smart ass." Jack waved over his shoulder as he walked away, "Gimme a call when you get this place cleaned up and it's safe to come back over."

Mac smiled and shook his head as he watched Jack pull out of the driveway in typical Jack fashion, squealing the tires just enough to make his presence known to the entire neighborhood. Mac shut the door, turned the lights off and surveyed the now too quiet house and sighed. Then he got out his phone and called for pizza. He could face cleaning up. He couldn't face trying to cook.

0-0-0

It took Mac a few hours to rearrange things to fill the holes left by all of Bozer's stuff. He never realized it before, because he thought he'd cornered the market on it, but his now former roommate was kind of a packrat. Around nine or so, Mac remembered there was a pizza on the counter and grabbed a room temperature slice.

He realized that between the empty stomach and the length of the day, the couple of beers he'd sipped while he worked had actually resulted in a little bit of a buzz. He shrugged to himself and cracked a third to go with his pizza. Not bothering with a plate, Mac grabbed another slice on his way out onto the deck.

He was tired, but not the sort of tired that meant he was ready for bed. Just the kind that said it was maybe time to lay off the current project and relax a little so he could actually sleep when the time came. He could always work on the house a little bit at a time after work this week, and he didn't have to be at work until ten tomorrow because of a conference call his supervisor wanted him there for later in the evening than he usually worked.

He got the fire started in the pit, holding his slice of pizza by the crust between his teeth, the stretched out on the floorboards, propping himself up on his elbows, reclining on a throw pillow from one of the deckchairs. Jesus, it was quiet. Even the distant noises of the city were muted by the crackle of the fire.

Mac sighed deeply. It was a tired sort of sound. But after everything that had happened in the last couple of years, he thought he was entitled to give in to being a little worn out from it from time to time. Besides, despite the occasional bouts of mild existential angst, he really was pretty happy.

He loved Bozer to pieces, but he really was enjoying the silence, the lack of frenetic, make everything alright through sheer will, energy that characterised his oldest friend. He thought he might really like living alone, figuring out who he was totally separate from his friends.

He would admit to missing working with Jack, but he wondered if Jack didn't enjoy his job more without him to look out for. Mac hadn't really thought much about it before Boze went to work at Phoenix, but … when they were in the field together, Mac worried incessantly about Bozer. It gave him some perspective about how protective Jack could be.

His beer was empty. But he was warm and comfortable on the deck. And also a little looped, truth be told. He had about half a bagel with Jack, then he'd eaten … a granola bar, maybe? He couldn't remember. They'd been busy. Two pieces of pizza, and four beers in fairly quick succession. He grumbled to himself that he should probably haul his ass inside, grab a water, maybe a shower, and then hit the rack.

He didn't have to be up early or anything, but Monday promised to be long.

He got to his feet, groaning a little at how stiff and sore he was from all the lugging and carrying and lumping things up and down stairs. He laughed quietly to himself. Time to maybe hit the gym a little harder. Once upon a time, he didn't think he'd been this sore after running from Bosnian drug lords and jumping out of a plane, landing badly, and running again.

Poor Jack, he thought as he headed inside for a shower. Dude must feel like he got hit by a bus. Then again, Jack's job was still to be in the best shape he could be. Of course, Mac grinned, Jack also had like fifteen years on him.

Besides, it's not like getting out of the spy game meant he'd let his conditioning go. In fact, as long as he remembered to eat at something like regular intervals, Mac found it almost ridiculously easy to stay in shape. Just there was a difference, he supposed, between the functional fitness of being on the run, or set to chase all the time, and hitting the gym and the trail four or five days a week.

He figured he wasn't too far gone because a hot shower soothed all of it, in a way it never had after a mission. Toweled off, dressed in his comfiest sweats, he turned back the covers on his bed. Then he stopped.

Faced with the prospect of going to sleep in the silent, empty house he decided that maybe he'd go watch some tv on the couch, at least until he felt a little sleepier. He grabbed a pillow and his comforter, just in case he decided to stay out there.

It wasn't that he'd never been in the house alone, or that there was anything particular bothering him about it. It just felt so … permanent. And while he hadn't had a really bad nightmare in a while, the last year had been full of them. He kind of liked the idea of having the tv on to orient him since he no longer had Boze around to shake him awake.

He turned on the tv, scrolling until he landed on some explosives special on the Military Channel, which he sometimes liked to watch and dissect for inaccuracies. It relaxed him. It worked, too, because he could feel his eyelids getting heavier by the second. Between beer and bombs that other people had to deal with, he'd overcome the vague sense of … not unease … but newness … that might otherwise have kept him up.

After a while, Mac gave in to the feeling and stretched out on the couch, rolling onto his side to keep watching the show, and bunching his pillow up comfortably between his head and the arm it was slightly propped up on. He was almost asleep, the television fading into the soft background of his consciousness, his breathing leveling out the way it usually did now that he wasn't in a constant state of stress from work just completed or on the horizon.

He teetered on the edge of sleep when a sharp triple hard knock on his front door caused him to bolt upright, scrambling off the couch.

He looked around somewhat wildly for a moment, disoriented. The knock had sent his heart to fluttering like a hummingbird trapped in the cage of his chest, and for a second he couldn't quite figure out why. Then as he returned to complete wakefulness his heart slowed a little, and he realized it was because his alarm system should have chimed when someone set foot on the walkway up to his door. It didn't go off or anything, just gave a little warning blip.

He set the alarm, didn't he? Images of Murdoc, his lackeys, the bomb in his basement, hell, the LAPD detectives, all just coming to his home and catching him unaware played through his mind at high speed. Mac's heart took back off at a gallop. He forced himself into the game-faced, mission-ready calm that years of training gave him access to. His heart and his breath cooperated almost immediately.

Looking across the room to the control panel by the door, he could see the red light that assured him his system was armed blinking placidly in the shadows.

He moved over to his laptop on the desk across the room, opened it, and pulled up the camera feed. There was no one at his door. But there was a large box, about the size of a case of copy paper, sitting on his welcome mat. He frowned at the image for a moment.

The he activated the flood lights so he could see further into his yard and parking area.

No one there either.

The lonely box made Mac think once again of the Ghost. Then the fact that whoever delivered the box got to his door undetected and then disappeared from the area with spooky speed made him think of Murdoc. Part of him wanted to call the police. Another part sort of wanted to call Matty. Mostly he wanted to call Jack. But … he also didn't want to over react to what was potentially an innocent prank from some neighbor kid, or pull his friends into trouble if it wasn't so innocent.

Looking at the screen again to assure himself that there really wasn't anyone in view. He picked up his Swiss Army knife off the desk and started toward the door. Then he stopped again. He went into his room and put on his boots. He thought he could live with getting jumped in his pjs, but getting jumped while barefoot wasn't a disadvantage he wanted to think about. He almost laughed at how paranoid it seemed. Then Murdoc's face passed through his mind again and he finished tying his shoes.

A few minutes later he was standing on his front stoop, looking down at a plain brown paper wrapped box. He thought his first impulse had been correct. It looked like a copy paper box someone wrapped up. There was no address or anything written on it, so it clearly hadn't been innocently delivered by a messenger service.

Sighing, he squatted down next to the box to evaluate it more closely. Several minutes of careful inspection yielded some secrets to his experienced senses.

He was pretty sure it wasn't a bomb.

That didn't mean it was anything good though. He could picture all sorts of terrible things it could be. Like pounds of white powder that might be baby powder or it might be anthrax. A canister of gas. That would probably knock him out and he'd wake up chained to a chair in a basement with Murdoc's crazy dead shark's eyes staring into his. A human head.

"Get a grip, Mac, jeez," he mumbled to himself.

Then he almost laughed as he pictured the Brad Pitt impression he knew Jack would launch into if he were here. A loud, "What's in the box? What's in the box?" would definitely happen. His expression became serious again when he realized he hadn't been able to comfortably watch movies like _Se7en_ since his first disturbing encounter with the obsessive, evil clown levels of creepy, Murdoc.

A dog barked. Close. He jumped just a little, then looked up. His neighbor Claire was walking her familiar Great Dane, amusingly named Hamlet, within easy view. He waved absently, deciding right then to take the damned box inside before anyone else saw it or was potentially hurt by whatever the contents was.

Mac carefully picked it up. It was heavy for its size, probably twenty pounds or so, which was pretty consistent with it being a copy paper box. If it was actually full of copy paper. He got it inside without mishap and set it down on his coffee table. Then he went directly back to the door and rearmed his security system, having caught Jack's earlier paranoia about his light like a bad cold.

He sat down on the couch, shoving his pillow and blanket out of the way and facing the box. He frowned. Then he got up and retrieved his phone from over on the charging station, setting it next to him as he sat back down to continue his investigation of the box. Honestly he was hoping this was nothing. But he was so used to even innocuous things turning into giant problems, that he just felt better knowing a call for help was in reach.

He slit the paper around the lid and eased the top off the box with the careful, precise movement that would have told Jack, had he been there, that Mac still half suspected an explosive device.

"Huh."

He cast the lid aside onto the floor. The box was full of copy paper. Right to the top. There was an envelop resting on the neat stacks. Mac sighed and slit that open too, thinking to himself, "Now's when I find the anthrax."

Instead, what he found was a folded piece of paper, with a few words written on it in plain blue pen, in what looked like a shaky hand.

 _Mini Mac,_

 _I thought maybe it was time somebody explained a few things to you._

 _I thought it was time someone told you the truth._

 _There's more where this came from, kid._

 _And he's not done yet. Not by a long shot._

 _Not unless somebody stops him._

 _J.W._

Mac sat staring at the note for several minutes. He ran a hand over his eyes. Mini Mac. J.W. This package had to come from Jonah Walsh. But why? To what end? He looked back at the note and realized his hand was shaking a little. He put it down on the coffee table and started to sift through the contents, a hollow feeling seeping into his chest.

This was thousands of sheets of photocopied notes, photographs, medical records, profiles … Names he knew, faces he recognized. He wished he hadn't eaten that pizza, because as all this information got put into context, he started to feel kind of sick. This box was cataloguing years of experiments in the lab and in the field stretching back to before Jack was born.

After a while, Mac stopped reading, started just trying to quickly categorize the information. He started to sort things into piles by … participant didn't feel like the right word … test subject came closer … but his brain settled on lab rat, or guinea pig, by turns.

And the more Mac sifted through the papers, the angrier, the more horrified, he became. The hollow feeling continued to grow.

All of the test subjects had been human. Most of them had apparently been volunteers if the copies of release forms were to be believed, but there was clearly not an ethical level of disclosure, and some of them … some of them hadn't known they were part of an experiment at all.

Military and government types he could almost deal with. But the civilians bothered him. The elderly, the disabled, women … Children. Who the hell would experiment on children. Other than maybe the Nazis.

He couldn't even process that his own government really did this. Especially because … Well, because … Damnit, he felt sick. He tried to push the feeling aside. But he couldn't. He got the impression from the first papers he looked through this started with the CIA, but morphed into something else after a decade or so, and …

It was very clear who the lead researcher was, or at least who it had been since the mid 1980's. James MacGyver hadn't just left him on his tenth birthday, hadn't just manipulated his life in small ways for the whole course of it until Mac had walked out of Phoenix months ago, hadn't even just been Oversight. James MacGyver has been experimenting on people for some arm of the government, although who was footing the bills that led to KX7 wasn't clear from the cursory glances Mac was giving the information. And he'd been doing so years before Mac was born.

As he neared the bottom of the box, he discovered a stack of papers that was set apart by a sticky note on top.

 _I'm really sorry about this, kid._

Mac peeled off the note and the ID picture cover page under it was revealed. Mac swallowed hard. He held it for a long time. Then he slowly started reading the first few pages. After staring at the introductory information, but finding himself unable to read further, he set it aside and started looking at some of the other stacks of papers.

By the time he looked up at the clock again, his eyes felt hot and dry, and his head ached with the steady sort of thud he'd normally have associated with a concussion. He sighed deeply, then picked up his phone from where he'd left it off to the side.

"Hey, Alan … Yeah, I don't think I'm gonna make it in … Killer migraine. I'm so sorry about the conference call … Thanks, I appreciate it … Nah, man, I can't. I'm not eligible for insurance for a couple more weeks … Okay, I will … I'll let you know. Thanks, bye."

He appreciated working for a place where a guy taking a sick day wasn't treated like a national emergency and instead of acting inconvenienced, he was met with a totally appropriate concern for a valued employee. As far as supervisors went, Mac could have done a lot worse than Alan. He did have a headache, but migraine was a stretch. But it was a nice non-specific illness that would be totally understandable to ask for a day or so off for, without anyone calling 911 because they thought he was dying.

With work taken care of, Mac made the more important phone call of the morning.

"Hey, Jack," Mac said, sounding, he though, pretty normal.

"What's wrong?" Jack replied by way of a greeting.

"How do you know anything's wrong?" Mac asked, trying to sound like he was teasing and failing miserably.

"Mac … For real, kid. I hate it when you know I'm right and you stall."

Mac sighed. "Okay. I'm … I need … Can you come over after work today if you don't get sent to … wherever …"

"I can come over right the hell now if something's wrong." Mac realized that was probably already in process because he heard Jack's car door in the background and he heard the engine roar to life, just the way Jack liked it.

"You don't need to drop everything and rush right over …" Mac trailed off. He actually really did need Jack to do exactly that. "Okay, actually, yeah. I'll start the coffee. See you in a few." His cringed at how flat his voice sounded.

Mac's thumb moved to end the call, but he heard Jack ask, "What's goin' on, Mac? Don't leave me hanging like this across town."

Mac swallowed again. He wanted Jack here, didn't want to be reading all this, going through this on his own. But he also thought Jack might actually blow a gasket when he saw what had prompted this early morning phone call.

"Someone delivered a package here last night … Don't freak out. It wasn't dangerous … Well, not the way we think of danger, I guess. But it's full of information that feels pretty dangerous to me. And I know who sent it."

"Don't tell me Sir Oversight has resurfaced to screw with you again and …"

"No, Jack I'm pretty sure that this information is the last thing James MacGyver would have wanted me to see. It's from Jonah Walsh."

"What the hell would that crazy bastard …"

Mac interrupted again. "Just … I'll show you when you get here. I can't talk … I'm gonna start the coffee," he repeated, and ended the call.

Instead of starting the coffee, Mac just sat there for a few minutes. Then he picked up the final folder that he'd spent the last several hours reviewing and took it into his room, placing it in one of his drawers, covering it with socks and underwear, and then closing it up. After that he did go start the coffee.

He would show it to Jack. Of course he would. But he wasn't quite ready for that this morning. The rest of this was bad enough. When Jack got a load of even just the ID cover page of that folder he was going to flip out and probably call everyone from Riley, to Matty, to the President of the United States (whom Jack had often joked he had on speed dial, he just didn't want to call in that particular favor too soon).

It hadn't made Mac flip out.

It just left him feeling empty, cold. And sort of sick to his stomach.

Seeing your own face on a file like that could do that to a guy, he supposed.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Jack's first instinct, as soon as he'd hung up with Mac. was to call Matty and get a tac team over to Mac's house asap. But, as he slid into the already considerable early morning traffic, he figured if calling Matty hadn't been Mac's first impulse, there had to be a reason. Well, probably.

Mac said the package wasn't dangerous. But sometimes the kid's idea of dangerous when it came to things that were potentially lethal was a bit skewed. Especially if he thought he could handle whatever it was on his own. He'd said it was dropped off last night. Which meant ... Jack checked his watch ... Mac had at least five or six hours alone with whatever it was before he finally decided to call him.

"I'm gonna kill him," Jack mumbled, hitting speed dial on his phone, and hanging up at the first ring. "Shit."

Walsh was Numero Uno on Phoenix's Most Wanted List. He also happened to be sixth on Interpol's. Why the hell wouldn't Mac have called Matty?

Jack laid on the horn effectively letting the guy in the truck in front of him know that a green light wasn't just a suggestion.

Mac wasn't with Phoenix any more, Jack reminded himself. And based on Mac's tone, whatever this was felt deeply personal anyway.

If it involved Mac or his father, Matty would probably let Jack keep Mac in the loop as far as Phoenix was concerned, on just about anything. Matty checked up on Mac almost obsessively, seemed to feel responsible for how precipitously he'd left, even though Jack reminded her firmly that leading him to Oversight's identity had absolutely been the right thing to do. Maybe not legally, but morally for sure.

Thing was, Matty had a personal stake in Mac's wellbeing. Interpol was a different story.

If Walsh resurfaced, as soon as Matty got wind of it, she'd have to let Interpol know, and they'd swoop in and scoop up everything, including whatever had been delivered to Mac's door.

Mac had been doing a decent job of moving on and trying to make a life outside of the clandestine services, but he hadn't let go of the idea that he needed to know the truth about James MacGyver. That probably meant that whatever had shown up, whatever he was dealing with right now, felt like the path to some answers.

He couldn't make the choice to just pull in Phoenix for Mac. Not until he saw what it was that they were dealing with anyway. If he needed to, he could probably get Riley, or maybe even Jill, to work some tech magic. Jack shook his head at the thought. No way would he be able to keep anything from Matty; the woman had the uncanny ability to know what everyone was doing all the time.

Jack swerved in and out of traffic, keeping an eye out for the five-oh and anyone that might be tailing him, all while ignoring the angry honks and hand gestures he was getting from morning commuters.

There was still the matter of someone making it all the way to Mac's door to drop the package off. Mac definitely said 'someone' had dropped it off. To Jack that meant the kid hadn't seen them.

 _Should have just crashed there last night_ , Jack thought, pounding a hand on the steering wheel in frustration and mashing on the gas pedal just a little bit harder.

And what the hell did Walsh have that he wanted Mac to see? Mac said it was something that James wouldn't be happy about, but that really didn't mean anything to Jack at the moment.

After Mac left Phoenix, Jack discovered there was plenty that pissed off James MacGyver. Jonah Walsh still being on the loose was a big one. And when he'd asked, Sir Oversight would never give even the slightest hint as to why their partnership had fallen apart, or why Walsh went over to the dark side, other than they'd had a falling out.

Jack shook his head. What would Walsh be doing sending whatever it was to Mac and why? After they'd narrowly escaped Mexico, Walsh had gone to ground. Hell, he wasn't even on Jack's radar really. Well, he technically was because he was a bad guy, but that was work radar, not potential threat to Mac radar, by any means. The kid had quit and Sir Oversight had disappeared, going back behind the curtain or wherever the hell he came from. Jack figured that end of things was done as far as Mac was concerned.

The kid had a good job, one that he liked, and even though there were still crazy psychopath nutjobs out there to worry about, Mac working for Tesla was a whole helluva lot safer than anything he'd ever done with Phoenix.

Jack's jaw clenched, and he wrung his hands on the steering wheel. If Jonah Walsh was playing some kind of sick game and dragging Mac into whatever beef he had with Mac's old man ... Jonah Walsh was a dead man.

Jack was startled out of his thoughts by his phone. He swallowed nervously at the distinct ringtone. He couldn't ignore the call, not after he'd called her and hung up on the first ring. If he didn't answer, Matty might think something was wrong and probably track his phone.

Of course she probably already was, he thought. Taking a calming deep breath, he picked up the phone.

"Hey, Matty, what's up?"

" _You_ called _me_ , Dalton. Why don't you tell me?"

"Yeah, sorry about that ... butt dialed ya."

He cringed and could feel her penetrating stare coming through the phone. Matty always knew when he was lying. Better quickly change the subject before she could grill him.

"But hey, now that I've got ya on the phone, I ain't comin' in today."

"Oh really? And what superstitious anniversary are we celebrating today that's cause for this unscheduled vacation? Hmm?"

Jack cringed at her sharp tone. "It ain't a anniversary, I just need the day off ... And, it ain't like I don't have a day or two comin' cuz ... shit!"

Jack dropped the phone, grabbed the wheel and slammed on the brakes, steering into the skid then powering out of it, the rear of the car fishtailing, narrowly missing the delivery truck that had turned in front of him.

Jack's heart hammered in his chest at the near miss. Of course, L.A. traffic was still flowing as if nothing had happened and Jack eased back into his lane. He could hear Matty's voice coming through his phone and reached down, fishing around for it on the floorboards, keeping his eyes on the road.

"Jack …"

"Dalton ... What the hell is going on? Dalton, pick up the damn phone or you'll be working every day until the end of time."

Jack finally found his phone, and put it on speaker. No reason to give the cops another reason to pull him over he thought. "Hey, Matty, sorry about that. I, uh, dropped you."

"No kidding! What are you doing? You know what, don't answer that. Just ... keep your phone on where I can reach you if anything comes up. And get a damn Bluetooth earbud before you get in a wreck while breaking however many laws you are right now along with talking on the phone while you're driving."

Jack nodded his head as if Matty could see him. "Yes, ma'am."

"And Dalton ..."

"Yeah?"

"Tell Blondie I said hi." The call disconnected before he could reply.

The rest of the drive was thankfully uneventful and he made it to Mac's place in a personal best record time.

As he pulled into the driveway, he scanned the grounds with a practiced eye. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary and no one had followed him, of that much he was sure.

He was just getting out his key, when Mac opened the door.

0-0-0

Mac was usually, even at the best of times, a bundle of energy, even nerves. The line item in the budget for paper clips during his tenure at Phoenix spoke more to his restlessness than it did to his nimble mind and equally nimble fingers.

But Jack didn't see Mac move all morning after meeting him at the door and saying he had to show him what Walsh had sent. Jack sat on one couch sifting through stacks of papers about probably a hundred different people … test subjects, he guessed you'd call them. His unease increasing when he saw a familiar face.

Mac sat across from him, almost motionless, still in the sweats and t-shirt he'd probably intended to sleep in, but had instead spent the night sitting alone reading this crap. Occasionally Jack would glance up as he picked up another stack of papers to leaf through and notice Mac picking at a stray thread on the hem of his t-shirt.

Jack felt a little shell shocked himself. He didn't understand most of what was here. The psych profiles and the background checks, the surveillance of the subjects, all that was pretty much in his wheelhouse. But these files weren't just about psychological experiments, or even enhanced interrogation, although there was a fair amount of that here, too.

A lot of it was straight up medical stuff that Jack couldn't make heads or tails of, other than it was probably damned unpleasant and in some cases, even if the person involved knew what was going on, illegal as hell. And in many of the cases he was looking at with slow growing horror, Jack knew the person couldn't have been a willing participant since they were not necessarily in command of all their faculties, or were … Jack felt his hands flexing in and out of fists … kids.

When that started happening, Mac finally got up, headed to the refrigerator, took out a water, and opened it. Then he set it on the counter and stared at it like he didn't know what to do with it for almost a full minute.

Jack set aside the papers he was trying to make sense of, got up, and crossed to the kitchen. He stepped in front of Mac and got himself a water. Then once he'd had a drink of his, he picked up the open bottle off the counter and handed it to Mac, who sort of reflexively took it and had a drink.

His eyes widened for a second and then he finished the rest of the bottle in several long pulls. He shrugged sheepishly at the raised eyebrow he got from Jack. "Before you start helicoptering …" He reached into the fridge and got another one, opened it, and downed that one, too. He shrugged as he got out a third and just set it on the counter. "Playing catch-up. I don't think I've had anything to drink since I finished a beer right before I changed for bed."

"I'm pretty sure in the realm of taking care of yourself, beer doesn't count," Jack said with a small grin.

"I'm pretty sure you're the guy that taught me that it did," Mac bantered back, sounding much more like himself than he had since he'd opened the door and practically pulled Jack inside.

Not quite ready to discuss what was in that box, Jack turned back toward the fridge and opened it. "So, you forgot to _drink_ anything all night. I'm guessing you haven't eaten either."

Mac leaned against the counter. "Ugh. No way. I can't eat after … all this."

"I know it's bad, Mac, but …"

Mac pushed off from the counter and began the pacing Jack had been expecting to see for a while now. "Bad doesn't really cover this, Jack."

Jack followed Mac, but kept a reasonable distance. He wanted to be able to see Mac's face, but not crowd the kid. "I know it looks like ole Sir Oversight was into some hinky stuff, but most of that CIA stuff is pretty well-known, Mac. The MKUltra Project …"

"Isn't the worst of what's in those files and you know it," Mac snapped. Then he took a deep breath and leaned against the wall he'd been pacing by. "I'd heard about some of that … mostly when I found out Matty had been in interrogation for the Agency and then brought on Cage at Phoenix and was so pushy about her …" He stopped and took a shuddering breath, trying to collect himself for what he was going to say next.

Jack took a few more steps and leaned against the wall next to Mac, narrowly avoiding clocking himself in the head with a bare hook that he thought had been left by one of Bozer's neon signs. "Okay, so most of that stuff is on wikipedia at this point. Ever think maybe Walsh is still pissed that we threw a monkey wrench into the works in Mexico, and wants to screw with you and your old man? Like maybe this is some kind of hoax?"

Mac shrugged. "It crossed my mind, but Jack, those records are so detailed … Besides, some of it even makes sense. Like people coming away with increased speed, stealth, physical resilience … I knew Murdoc wasn't just some guy ..."

Jack nodded slowly. Actually Murdoc being some kind of superhuman freak had crossed Jack's mind before. "Yeah, but Walsh hacked Phoenix when Murdoc did his whole hostile takeover thing. He could have just found out about Murdoc's profile then and whipped up this story to fit that."

Mac chewed the inside of his cheek for a minute. "I thought about that too. But … Matty doesn't believe anyone inside was feeding either of them information … So the way I see it, the only way the siege at Phoenix coincided with Walsh's electronic break in is if they coordinated them, by working together. These files say they were both part of … the whole CIA thing and all the private firm stuff afterward … Probably they both just have a legitimate axe to grind with Oversight."

Mac paused, looking at the floor.

"And then there's the stuff with all the kids. That rings true even if nothing else did." His voice got a little cold. "But all of it does Jack. All of it."

"And you think your old man is somehow involved in that, too? I mean he's a total piece of work, I'll give you that. But seriously dude… This is some Area 51 stuff, bro. I mean I know the Agency did some crazy shit back in the day. Hell, they had dudes trying to move crap with their minds. And I'm still not convinced they didn't have a couple uh UFO's at some point or another, know what I mean?"

Mac didn't respond. He just looked at Jack, waiting.

Jack swallowed the last of his water, trying to piece together things he'd read and what Mac was trying to tell him. "And I've known Matty for a long time, dude, no way would she keep something like this under wraps."

Jack held his hands up ready for Mac to go off on a tangent about the vague 'clues' she had left when they were searching for James.

But he didn't.

"Don't get me wrong, I don't necessarily agree with how she handled everything about your dad by any means, believe me. We've had quite a few late night talks about that, let me tell ya. But Cage? What's she got to do with anything? Pushy, yeah… Annoying accent... you betcha. Liked to make people uncomfortable with her little mind games, sure. I'll give you that. But she turned out alright, I guess." He shrugged.

Mac still wasn't saying anything, or even looking like he planned to, necessarily. Jack figured it was time to try getting him talking more actively.

"Honestly, I haven't really given her much thought. Why? What's your take on it?" he prompted, nodding toward the files.

Mac frowned, almost like he hadn't heard him. "You didn't recognize the picture?"

Then he walked back over to the coffee table where all the papers were and he started sifting through them, clearly looking for something. Jack followed, his heart sped up involuntarily. "What picture? There are a lot of pictures, bud."

"Where did she go?" Mac mumbled to himself, sitting down and starting to shuffle things around with increasing agitation.

Instead of butting in to Mac's slightly frenzied search of the papers, Jack just sat down across from him. Mac clearly thought this stuff was genuine. He didn't seem to care what Walsh's motives were in sending it, at the moment anyway. And there was definitely something he was holding back. He'd been waiting for Jack to come to his own conclusions, but Jack hadn't gotten there on his own. He almost asked the kid if that surprised him, but he decided more teasing was probably not the way to go.

"There!" Mac said almost triumphantly, but it was robbed of any real color by the look on his face.

He held out one of the identifying information pages that held a picture of the subject. Jack took it, almost reluctantly. "I know the kids bother you, man, I'm with you on that. But this little girl is one out of like twenty or so. What's different about her?"

Mac looked at Jack with something like mild disbelief. "Just look at her Jack."

Mac seemed so earnest about this, Jack tried again, squinting at the page. "Date of birth blah, blah, blood type blah blah, parents, blah, blah, … hair blonde, eyes blue, age at the time of evaluation … ten? What am I lookin' for Mac? You know you're the brains of this operation."

"No, huh?" Mac sighed. "Okay, how about this one?"

He scattered some papers onto the floor. He found what he was looking for and winced a little looking at the page as he passed it to Jack. Determined to see what the kid was pointing out to him, Jack squinted at the page. It was pretty similar. Pretty little kid, blond, blue eyes, about the same age as the other little girl. Both a few years older than Mac would have been back then, but not a lot.

Jack studied the picture in earnest. Give him a picture of an adult or a target and it was committed to memory. But kids just looked like kids and he honestly couldn't tell the difference between the two or apparently get on the same page as Mac. Hell, he wasn't even in the same damn library when it came to how Mac's brain worked. "I'm sorry, kid. Why don't you tell me what I'm lookin' for?"

Mac huffed a sigh and got up, striding out of the room. Jack almost followed, but it seemed like Mac was on a mission and planned to return, so instead he stared at the two pictures side by side. Other than being little girls several birthdays shy of even middle school and his gut reaction that involving kids in any kind of experiment was the kind of objectionable that had led men like him to war more than once, he really didn't know what to make of the special significance Mac was placing on them in a big ole box full of crazy bad news.

Mac came back carrying a folder and a picture in a frame. Jack reached out a hand to take whatever it was Mac wanted him to see, but instead of handing it to him, Mac laid another page next to the ones with the two girls. "If you don't recognize them, what about that kid?" he tapped a finger next to the photograph of yet another blue eyed blond kid.

Jack felt like he was on an elevator and the cable snapped. "Jesus! That's you!" He looked from photo to Mac and back again, rubbing a thumb over the photo as if he could comfort that little boy in the picture and tell him things were going to be okay.

Mac sat down again, this time next to Jack. "Yeah it is." He set the thick stack of papers he'd set aside in his room down on the coffee table. "And the file reads just like the other kids. A guardian agreed to be involved in an experiment … There's not real info as to what that was. It's all either missing or redacted," Mac said in a voice that sounded perfectly level to him, but disturbingly hollow and detached to Jack. "Their kids were the product and ongoing subjects of that and other experiments to produce … something. One of the subjects just happened to be the child of the guy running the show." He paused, not turning to take in Jack's horrified expression, but knowing it was there anyway. "It looks like my mom didn't know. So there's that, at least, I guess."

"Oh, Mac … I … Oh, kid, I …"

"And I know you recognized some of the adult photographs. Murdoc, for one. Although here if you dig through the papers a little there's a mention of his name being Dennis Williams."

Mac handed Jack a sheet of paper and leaned forward to pick up the files with the little girls photos attached.

"Dennis the Menace. In spades." Jack said, massaging the back of his neck trying to alleviate some of the growing tension there. He blew out a long breath, and scrubbed a hand over his short cropped hair, settling into the couch just a bit further, ready to take the mental impact of whatever Mac had put together as if it was a physical thing and set the sheet back on the table.

"The girls … I found their names too. This one is Amanda Kelly, so her name on that sheet wouldn't have helped you," he pointed to the first little girl. "But this one is Nichole." He paused, his whole face a frown, softened only by the fact that he looked vaguely ill as well as angry and upset. "Carpenter," he finished.

Recognition was immediate. "Nikki?" Jack said more because he needed to prove to himself he could still speak around how instantly dry his mouth got. He looked at the other picture again and couldn't believe he didn't see it before. But Mac had apparently been prepared for him to not catch on, because he lay the framed photo of all them from Christmas, before everything had gone south, next to the photocopy of the ID page.

"Cage?" Jack's voice had gone husky.

"Yeah," Mac said, almost in a whisper. "So we all have more in common than having worked for Phoenix."

Jack wanted to just put an arm around the kid, tell him they'd figure all this out, tell him it couldn't be as bad as it looked. But he didn't. Mac looked like a lonely man on a deserted island, and like he needed to stay that way for the moment. And Jack wasn't so sure he could even convince himself it wasn't as bad as it looked at the moment.

"Pretty big coincidence," Jack began.

"James MacGyver made it pretty clear that nothing in my life has ever been a coincidence." He stopped and rubbed his hands over his face. "So teaming us up …"

Jack's face paled as he looked at the files. Mac knew exactly what the older man was thinking and reassured him.

"Not you and me … I'm not sure what his agenda was there, but it pretty clearly backfired because you're part of why I was able to walk away," he flashed Jack a fleeting smile that was over almost as soon as it pulled at his lips, but to Jack the fact that the kid could smile at all while going through whatever the hell this was, was a butterfly in a snowstorm, beautiful and rare and to be remembered for when the storm made it too hard to see. "But it had to be part of whatever the hell had us in his files. I'm wondering how many other supposed coincidences there were."

He was still pretty seriously distraught, but now that Jack knew, some of the color and warmth had come back into Mac's voice.

Jack's head was starting to ache. He wanted to go find Walsh and Sir Oversight and do the world a favor by eliminating both of them by beating them to death with each other. But he couldn't just get up and freak out. Mac needed him right now.

"Lots of them, I'm guessin',"Jack said, finally daring to lay a hand on Mac's shoulder when he realized his young friend was rocking a little. No one else would probably have noticed it, but Jack did. It was a sign Mac was about at the end of his rope. "Not the least of which is that you guys were all cute as a button. If all the buttons you ever wanted were blond blue-eyed pink cheeked prodigies." He forced a chuckle. "Jeez, it sounds even creepier when I say it out loud."

Mac frowned. "No, it sounds like eugenics." His head tilted as he studied the pictures again. Then he started pulling the ident sheets on the other kids.

"Catch me up, genius. Eugenics?" Jack said, not because he wasn't familiar with the concept, but to try to keep Mac grounded and talking.

"Eugenics, the supposed science of improving a human population by controlled breeding to increase the occurrence of desirable heritable characteristics. It was primarily proposed by Francis Galton in the 1820's in England. Then in the early 1900's there was a big movement right here in California. Proponents got involved in government and involuntarily sterilized something like sixty thousand people."

Jack paled. "Sounds like the freakin Nazis."

Mac nodded. "That's part of where the Nazis got their ideas … Oh my God." Mac went about six shades of pale and swayed a little next to Jack.

Jack squeezed his shoulder and shook it lightly. "What? What is it kid? Talk to me."

Mac nodded slowly and his mouth worked a few times before he got sound to come out of it. "The dossier. The one Matty sent me at Christmas with the Holocaust survivor … You don't think she knows about this do you, knows my father was … doing _this_?"

Jack was trying to keep his fury off his face and out of his voice for the time being, but he was only partially successful. Finding out James MacGyver; a complete stranger at the time, had somehow manipulated his career in the Army was one thing. But he'd known Matilda Webber for a long time and even though they'd had a few issues over the years, he considered her a true friend. If she knew… "I think we oughta call 'er and find the hell out."

Mac only nodded, not raising any protest when Jack got out his phone.

Jack looked at the small mountain of files. "You got a copy machine or something? You know, just in case."

Mac started to answer but Jack held up a finger effectively silencing him as Matty picked up on the first ring.

"You butt dialing me again Dalton?"

"Matilda, we need to talk." His tone left no argument that he wasn't in the mood for their usual verbal sparring.

"Oh boy, it's never good when you use my full first name, Dalton. So I'm guessing something's probably wrong at Mac's," Matty said softly into the phone.

Mac gave Jack another slight smile when he answered her. "I'm guessing maybe probly-haps it is. So come on over. No staff," he said with an order in his tone. Mac wasn't looking for Phoenix right now, just answers and he wanted that clear.

"Yes, sir," she said sarcastically, but there was no venom in it.

"You okay Mac?" Jack asked as soon as the phone was away.

Mac shook his head. Then he sighed. "I honestly don't know."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Jack was almost encouraged by the return of Mac's restless inability to sit still.

Almost.

He'd tried a few times to tease out what had brought it back and had been met with an impatient, "I'm fine," each time.

After the third repetition of Mac's favorite disingenuous bland platitude, Jack got up and walked to the kitchen. Mac gave him a cursory glance and continued to pace, eyes glued to the contents of one of the folders, obviously not interested in whatever Jack was doing.

"Well, I'm glad you're _fine_." Jack said, making air quotes. "Because 'fine' people need to eat. I'm gonna make us some breakfast. How do you want your eggs?" Jack asked, his tone making it clear that not wanting any wasn't an option.

Mac glanced at Jack without really taking him in before his eyes returned to what he was reading. "Out of eggs," he said absently.

Jack opened the refrigerator and inspected the contents. He sighed. He had a feeling he was really going to miss Bozer's obsession with having a fully stocked refrigerator and pantry at all times.

"Seriously, dude? What'd Bozer do, pack all the food, too?" he asked, closing the fridge and leaning his elbows on the counter.

Mac walked between the couch and the coffee table picking up a new file on his way by. "I cleaned out the fridge," he said dismissively flipping through the pages.

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Of everything? There was some good stuff in there, Mac! Wasn't there still a big bowlful of that pulled pork with the fancy Cuban sauce all over it."

This time Mac cocked an eyebrow in return. "Mojo sauce. And yeah, that was in there. From last Tuesday ago at least." He paused. "That was actually what made me decide to toss stuff. Boze was the food guy, so he shopped, and cooked, and kept track of expiration dates in his head." He shrugged, turning back to whatever he was looking for in those folders.

"So, since you didn't know when he cooked some sandwich stuff, the whole fridge went into the dumpster?"

Another Mac shrug. "Mostly went to compost, actually."

Jack couldn't quite decide what to make of Mac's attack of maniacal cleaning. "Dude, there had to be a hundred dollars worth of stuff in here at least. Why would you …"

"Salmonella," Mac interrupted. "Campylobacter jejuni, shigella, escherichia coli, listeria monocytogenes, clostridium botulinum, and that's just the common bacteria, Jack." He paused again. "Quit looking at me like that. I didn't suddenly become a germaphobe; I just don't see any percentage in taking unnecessary risks when I can just go get fresh stuff." Then he looked a little sheepish. "Or, you know, order a pizza," He glanced at the cupboards. "You're always bragging about what a great cook you are. Dig around and figure something out."

"Dude, even the best iron chef couldn't make anything edible out of condiments and a half a jar of pickles."

Jack pushed off the counter and opened the fridge again.

 _Nope_. Sadly, the magic food genie hadn't made a deposit in the last thirty seconds.

"Well, now. On the plus side, there's still beer." He smiled, holding the fridge open and doing his best Vanna White wave. "Hey, I thought you told me you bought a pizza for dinner last night. No way your skinny ass went through a whole pizza without me."

Mac just glared at him, irritated, and continued to walk around the couch while flipping through the pages of the file. He wasn't about to explain that unidentifiable liquid off leftovers had dripped on it and he'd chucked what was left of that, too.

"There's some protein bars in my hiking pack over in the closet by the door," he offered as an alternative.

Jack shook his head. "I don't know how many times I gotta tell you, kid. Those damned things ain't food. Might as well eat the pizza box outta your recycling."

Mac shrugged and resumed his distracted wandering around the room, frowning at his reading material.

Jack was amazed that Mac could read and pace at the same time. His efficiency at that particular activity told Jack he practiced it a lot. Jack frowned. Mac noticed.

"If you're gonna be picky and can't wait until Marco's opens to deliver a slice, Jack, just go to the market," Mac sighed after he felt Jack staring at him for a couple of minutes.

"Like hell! The last time I left this place when I shoulda stayed you got a big ole box of Doc Moreau's greatest hits delivered to your door."

Something flickered in Mac's eyes, almost like recognition, but it passed quickly and he sat down. Jack assumed it took a second for Mac to remember the movie he'd just referenced. Jack thought maybe the kid had blocked it out because when they'd watched it, it had seemed to bother him. Especially the remake.

Now Jack frowned wondering if some part of Mac remembered being involved in some sort of experiment. Because usually Mac just rolled his eyes a lot or fell asleep when Jack wanted to watch what he considered 'scary' movies.

Jack grabbed a beer and set it on the counter, watching Mac, hunched over the stack of files once again, shuffle them and rearrange the order, like he'd done a dozen or more times since they'd called Matty.

He picked up his phone off the counter and sent her a text. _Bring food._

Then he grabbed the beer, forgoing the bottle opener that was God only knew where, popped the cap off with his ring, and threw the cap with a bit more force than was probably necessary into the trash can. The sound didn't seem to make it to Mac's ears and he continued to shuffle the files into some sort of order Jack had no doubt would only make sense to Mac at this point.

Jack had spent the last half hour going over the files again, mostly with Mac rapid firing information like he was an auctioneer. He'd gone from file to file so fast Jack thought it was like playing the genius level of Concentration. Every time Jack asked a question, Mac would shuffle through reams of paperwork, find what he was looking for, and hand it to him.

After a while it was hard to keep everything sorted in his head. Finally he decided to just let Mac work things out and then wait until Matty arrived so he could get the cliffs notes version of whatever it was Mac thought he was on to.

Mac was like a dog with a bone when it came to puzzles. Even inconsequential ones. The fact that he and his old man were somehow part of this one just exacerbated the compulsion.

Jack leaned against the counter and took a long pull off the beer as he watched Mac for a while.

A slight head nod here, a shuffle of papers there.

Other than their brief food conversation and a few grumpy assurances that he was 'fine' after the initial info dump Jack had experienced when he arrived, Mac hadn't said more than two words, and Jack wasn't quite sure those were even directed at him.

Mac was seriously going down the rabbit hole. Jack couldn't blame him. But after listening to Mac, some of the things in those files was so far out there, Jack wasn't one hundred percent convinced Jonah Walsh wasn't just messing with the kid's head.

After Mac had left Phoenix, Jack had done a little digging into Jonah Walsh; at least the information that he could actually get his hands on. Just about everything after Walsh's military service had been heavily redacted.

When he'd asked Matty for the unredacted files, she said even she didn't have access to them. Sir Oversight was unavailable at the time (had made himself unavailable, Jack was pretty sure), and even Riley couldn't dig anything up other than an incident in Guatemala. All she had found was Walsh's image was captured in a photograph of a crowd on the front page of a local newspaper. The caption under the photo read. "Tourists and Locals Stunned as Cargo Plane Carrying Medical Supplies Crashes; Damages Six Flores Neighborhoods".

Jack couldn't decide at the time, or now if he was being honest, if he thought Walsh was there to do honest business to buy loads of unregulated (by the US government at least) drugs, if he'd caused the crash, or if he was just a bystander in Flores for other reasons. He was going to say something about it, but he was pretty sure he heard a car door.

Jack headed for the entryway and had his hand almost on the handle to open it when Matty strode in, not bothering to knock. Jack realized how distracted he and Mac both must have been to not have locked up or armed the security system earlier.

She dropped her purse on the small table by the door and shoved a paper bag into his hands.

"What's this?" he asked, almost afraid to open his mouth at the look she was giving him.

"Food. Like you asked … well, demanded would be a better word. You better have a good excuse for calling me like suddenly you're my boss, then deciding I'm also a delivery boy, just so I could come over here and catch you drinking your breakfast," she snapped, eyeing the beer Jack was still casually holding in one hand.

"I, uh, um …" Jack fumbled for words under her glare.

"Just spit out what's got your undies in a bunch this morning so I have at least _some_ evidence you didn't just blow off work for day drinking," Matty said in her characteristic acerbic tone of voice.

Before Jack could gather his thoughts, Matty turned the slight corner that brought the living area into full view. She took several more steps, head tilting as she observed Mac, who didn't appear to have noticed her. "What is this?"

Mac looked up then, his eyes boring into hers. "Maybe you can tell me."

0-0-0

It was definitely past lunch time when Matty finally came up for air from the files. Mac hadn't taken his eyes off her the whole time she was reading. Instead of the pacing and distracted mumbling that had dominated the morning, Mac just sat across from her. He kept his arms folded, an ankle crossed over the opposite knee, leaning back into the cushions in what Jack supposed Mac meant to look like a casual posture, but which looked more like he was expecting Matty to leap up and start raining blows down on him.

For hours.

Jack had given up a while ago and eaten one of Mac's chocolate flavored cardboard bars out of his bag, since Matty brought over ingredients that would take time, creativity, and know-how to prepare, and Jack wasn't _that_ hungry, _thank you very much Matilda_. Now he was sitting in one of the chairs that were off to the side of the central living room, watching both of them, chewing on some more cardboard. He thought this one was supposed to be apple pie flavored or something.

Matty's dark eyes held real pain when she put down the last stack of papers Mac had handed her, the ones with him and the girls in them. "Mac," she began.

He sat forward suddenly, looking almost defeated. "You knew about all this?" came out as a hoarse accusation rather than a question.

"No!" she shook her head, horrified. His look of relief was short lived though. "But I suspected … _something_."

Mac looked close to tears at the admission, but his voice was very level. "This is … why didn't you tell me?"

She got up, walked around the coffee table, sat down next to Mac, and gently pried one of his hands free of gripping his elbows so she could clasp it lightly. He turned toward her so he could really look in her face and she gave him a small, reassuring smile. "I did, Mac. As much as I could."

Mac let go of her hand and scrubbed both of his over his face and through his hair. Then he leaned his elbows on his knees and propped his head in his hands. "You've told me repeatedly my father was a good guy."

"No," she said firmly. "I've told you that he's saved my life more times than I can count. That he's honestly saved thousands, maybe millions of people on missions. That doesn't make him a good guy, necessarily. Just dedicated to his idea of patriotism and the people he sees as useful to achieving the goals of that." She put a hand on his slumped shoulder and squeezed. "I've only known a few people I was sure were real white hats, good guys down to their bones. Two of them are in this room."

Mac didn't look up. He just sighed heavily. So Jack spoke instead. "If he was such an all American hero, what made you suspicious? You already said your investigation didn't turn up much."

Mac glanced up at Jack, then at Matty, before he went back to inspecting his hands. Both caught the flash of blue, but that was his only visible reaction. Matty absolutely ached for what this must be doing to him. Mac was such a self-contained man. Matty often suspected that he balked at rules, liked to improvise, because he didn't care for the feeling of not being in control. Being the subject of an experiment was sort of the ultimate lack of control.

Even if all this was some sort of ruse devised by Walsh, this was still going to stick with him, haunt him. His father had always openly tested his son, and showed clear disappointment and disapproval when Mac didn't respond the way he'd hoped or directed. Mac was a scientist, too, so he knew as well as anyone what constituted an experiment. Even if this huge repository of information proved false, it would still remind Mac that his own father had definitely seen him as an experiment, even if further investigation revealed that it was only one of odd parenting and not something more nefarious, like these documents indicated.

Matty sighed again. "I'd just started working as his handler … He was barely on my mind. I had other agents causing me problems left and right. Or should I say agent?" She threw Jack a mock glare and cleared her throat dramatically.

As she'd hoped, she heard Mac snicker. Then, his tension broken for the moment, he leaned back to sit more comfortably. "So what happened?" he asked.

That purely inquisitive tone almost made her smile. Mac was working the problem. That was a much better headspace than feeling helplessly a part of it, which she'd been worried about as she started to sift through the contents of the box.

She thought briefly of admitting that something about James had struck her as off on their first meeting. She even thought of saying she'd started squirreling away intel about him when he left CIA to reopen DXS, an intelligence service that had ceased to be much more than a think tank as the Cold War petered out. She almost said she'd moved the intel to her personal safe when she'd gotten to know Mac, when Oversight's orders seemed so counterintuitive as a way to deal with one's own child. But she didn't.

All of it was true, but she hesitated to say anything too openly reassuring. It might just put Mac's walls up and if this was real, she needed Mac in the game. Fully. So what she said instead was a truth that also happened to be a fact. Mac preferred those, could work with them. "I was in Paris on an assignment. I was walking right down the Champs Élysée and a man thrust a folder into my hands as he walked by. He just said James MacGyver isn't who you think he is."

Jack got to the next question before Mac could get past his dry mouth. "What was in it?"

"The picture I gave you at Christmas," she answered plainly.

Mac frowned. "Charles Pfeffer. Do You know anything about him?"

"I didn't even get as far as tracking down his name, Mac. But I did track down the young man who handed me that picture."

More than who, Mac wanted to know, "Why?"

"Holocaust picture gets randomly handed to you while referencing one of your agents by name as opposed to one of his many backstopped identities? In what universe do I not track that down, MacGyver?"

Mac cracked a half smile. "Okay, so who gave it to you?"

Matty frowned, wishing she could pin more significance on this for him. "A research assistant by the name of Xavier Quesnel. Not a particularly interesting man once I looked into him. He was just paying for medical school by working with several professors, organizing notes, archiving research, that sort of thing."

Knowing Matty would have done more than her fair share of investigating of something that tripped her radar relative to one of her agents, Mac asked, "He work for anyone important?"

Matty shrugged. "Depends of your definition of important. He assisted a whole lot of professors over the years he was at University and medical school. Top of my head … There was Audette, LaCroix, Javer, Montreau, Dufresne … those were the standouts. But I never found much on any of them other than that they were dedicated researchers and educators."

Mac was chewing his lip. "What's Quesnel up to these days, I wonder."

Matty arched an eyebrow at him. "Sometimes I think you read minds, Mac. It's almost spookier when you do it than when Cage … Or should I say, Miss Kelly … does. Dr. Quesnel runs a family practice in a small town in Switzerland these days." She paused at the look he gave her. "I looked him up again after you came and thanked me for the clues … I … I never made much out of that picture, but I …" She trailed off and Mac and Jack both looked concerned. Stammering was very un-Matty-like. "I hoped you would. Or at least that somehow it would help you get the answers you want."

In much the same tone he'd used on the very day he'd quit Phoenix, he gave her a soft smile and said, "Thank you, Matty."

"For what, Blondie?"

"I don't know … For not being part of whatever this is … if it's even real …"

Matty and Jack shared a look then, both relieved Mac had considered the possibility that Walsh had sent him this stuff, had fabricated it even, just to wind him up. Both of them thought there might be something to it, but neither wanted Mac so far in his own head over it that he couldn't rationally evaluate information or make decisions about it. That one comment let them know he was thinking clearly, considering possibilities.

"You're welcome," she said simply. "And I'm going to help you find out if it's real or not."

"I appreciate that, Matty. I don't exactly have a lot of resources as a civilian." He squinted just a little waiting for her reaction to the implication that his desire for help didn't mean he had a desire to be an agent again.

"Exactly. And no matter where this goes from here … You have to stay a civilian, or at least appear to no matter what you decide."

Mac's face creased into almost a frown, not at the implication that she considered 'the life' something he might want as an option but at the idea that appearances were important.

She went on. "If this does turn out to be real information and not just some game Jonah Walsh is playing because he has an irrational dislike for anyone bearing the name MacGyver … We don't know where James disappeared to or why. He may have his eyes on all of us. If he's the man these files imply he is, that could be very bad for all of us."

"Well ain't you just Little Mary Sunshine today," Jack observed with an exaggerated drawl.

She gave him a look. "Just so you know, Dalton, that is me being optimistic. You know what Mac's mind is capable of. James is just as smart, just as resourceful, and even if he's not the bad guy this hell-file makes him out to be, all those brains aren't governed by a heart and soul like our boy here. James does what he does because of his objectives, not because of his feelings, I don't care what he tells himself."

Jack shivered with a dramatic twitch of his shoulders. "So we're probably pissing off a superspy who can build bombs out of paperclips and might do it just because we're between him and what he wants. Great."

Mac shook his head, smirking a little. "You need a lot more than paper clips to build a bomb, Jack. I keep telling you."

"Okay, soda can pull tabs then. I've seen you use those to make a bomb, Genius."

Mac grinned, and neither Jack or Matty failed to notice the genuine amusement in it. "No … You've seen me use the aluminum in pull tabs with a hydrochloric acid based drain cleaner to cause a chemical reaction that released hydrogen which blew up when exposed to a flame. That's not the same thing."

"Alright, Science Guy, that's enough outta you."

"Still trademarked, I'm pretty sure, but …"

Much as she hated to get them back to business with Mac looking more like his usual self, she needed to. There was too much to set in motion and too many back doors she was going to have to use to do it to dawdle here all day. "And while we're on the subject of what resourceful spies, former or otherwise, are capable of … One thing they are not capable of is watching their own back's. Bozer moved out and this package was delivered before your tires could have cooled off from coming back across town, Mac."

"I know, but …"

"What I suggest is that you get yourself a new roommate … perhaps an old friend you've shared a bunkhouse with before?"

Jack grinned. "That mean Phoenix is gonna pay the rent on my place so I can keep an eye on our boy?"

"No, Jack, it means that you're going to give up that place like you would if you had to do it for a cover because someone could find out!"

"Aw Matty, it's rent controlled!"

Mac interrupted. "Before you two start World War III over an apartment … maybe somebody should ask the "boy" in question if he's down with having a roommate."

Both of them looked at him like he'd grown a second head.

"I mean, I'm fine with it … Just don't start planning my life without me or talking about me like I'm just some package the organization needs alive … Okay?"

The way his voice dropped let them know that the idea of being a commodity or feeling manipulated by Phoenix in any way was just too much for him at the moment, too close to why he left in the first place. Matty spoke first. "I didn't mean it like that, Mac. I'm sorry. I was just thinking it would be safer, it would make sharing information without sweeping multiple places for cameras and listening devices easier. You might sleep easier knowing you had some back up … That kind of thing."

He nodded. "I know it, I just … You get it. Both of you. Forget I said anything."

Jack gave him a crooked smile. "It'll be great, kid. You're finally tradin' up in the roommate department. Instead of waffles and bad pop music, you're gonna get good whiskey and my entire Bruce Willis collection."

"Oh, good," Mac said with a wry twist of his lips.

"You love it and you know it."

Mac shook his head. "Yeah, maybe if I'm delirious or full of pain meds, but there's only so many times a man can watch Die Hard when it's not Christmas."

Matty chuckled and shook her head as she got to her feet. "I need to get back to work and figure out how to make some contacts off the grid to get moving on investigating this." Both men nodded. "You better get your ass in gear and move some stuff today, Dalton, because I need you at the office by nine tomorrow."

"Matty, I can't work this week. Especially not if you really want me back on official bodyguard duty." Mac rolled his eyes at the comment, but kept silent. "And me and Mac gotta start looking at …"

"Mac needs to stay an uninterest civilian and you need to stay a Phoenix employee Jack. Appearances are important here. For safety. Especially Mac's."

Jack frowned, thinking. "I could dislocate my shoulder again. Ole Mac here could …"

Mac held up a hand, making a face that said 'hard pass' louder than words could have. "I'm not fixing another glenohumeral subluxation for you. And neither is Jill. It's gross."

Jack got up and started pacing around a little. Movement helped him think, sometimes more than it did Mac. As he mumbled to himself, Matty surprised Mac by stepping in front of him and pulling him into a brief hug, much the way he had with her months ago right before he quit. "We will get to the bottom of this, Blondie. We're still your team, still your family. You got that?"

"Yes, ma'am," he nearly whispered, a little choked up by the conviction in her voice.

As she started toward the door, Jack half turned toward them. "What if I shoot myself in the foot? That'd be good for some days off."

"You're not gonna shoot yourself in the foot, you big baby," Matty laughed. "You can stand to get shot, but I can't honestly see you purposely sending yourself to Medical just to go more undercover than you already are."

Jack smirked. She wasn't wrong. He probably couldn't bare to pull the trigger. "Well then, you could do it, Matilda. You and I both know you've been dyin' to shoot me at least a little bit since Chechnya."

She smirked. "How do you shoot someone a little bit? Besides, if you hand me a weapon I'm not shooting you in the foot. I get to pick the target and maybe … change the bandages. It's been a while."

As she breezed past him, she stepped sideways just a little, and landed a firm slap on the back pocket that was empty of his wallet, earning a startled yelp from Jack and a bought of laughter from Mac.

"See you are work tomorrow, Dalton … Or you know, parts of you sooner."

She closed the door behind herself. Mac was still laughing. Then he got a look at Jack's embarrassed slightly disgruntled face. "Okay, man … I gotta know … Especially if you're actually moving in here and I'm gonna have to deal with whatever baggage you two drag with you … What is all that between you and Matty? Were you guys a thing or something?"

Jack shrugged sheepishly and sat down next to Mac, more to avoid eye contact than to make conversation easier. "Nah … I mean, we coulda been for a minute back in the day but I … This stuff … She's just … It's a running joke with us is all."

Mac raised an eyebrow. "I get where your butt might be funny to a woman, but …"

Jack punched him in the shoulder, not exactly lightly, which just set Mac laughing a little again. "Okay, if you must know … I got shot … Well, kinda Matty shot me … but by accident. It was a ricochet and we were on the run and cut off from resources and …"

"Matty Webber accidentally shot you in the ass?"

"Yeah kinda," Jack shrugged, almost blushing. "And she hadta dig the fragment out, too, in the back of a closed up for vacation vets office where we couldn't even get any cat lidocaine or whatever they use when they hafta stitch up something with claws because the room had a combination lock on it. So it was me, Matty, a bottle of tequila, and some tweezers."

"Don't forget your butt. That was clearly there too." Mac grinned mischievously, surprised he could even feel half normal and relaxed after last night. Then again, that's how he always felt with his team. In a way, it was nice to have a piece of that back.

"Very funny, Angus. I seriously hope someday you get to understand exactly the level of awkward …"

"I keep my own backside covered, thank you. Not all of us have an exhibitionist streak. But that still doesn't explain all the … flirting."

"Well, I was maybe bein' a little dramatic …"

" _You?_ Never!" Mac teased sarcastically.

"Haha," Jack didn't laugh. "Anyways, Matty just started bein' well, Matty. By which I mean she'd make a sailor blush, and maybe a trucker, too. But damned if her next level inappropriate crap didn't distract me. It's been kind of a joke since then, I guess."

Mac nodded, still half smiling. "Buuuuttttt … Not your actual butt, but like but comma," Mac's small smile broke back into a grin. "You said you were almost a thing. You can't just say something like that and then walk it back."

This time Jack blushed for real. "Yeah well, maybe. But I screwed it up in classic Dalton's Lonely Hearts Club style. See, we were in Paris …"

Suddenly Mac was on his feet. "Paris! Jack, Dr. Quesnel that gave Matty the picture of Pfeffer!"

Jack frowned at him, but he wasn't displeased that Mac lost the thread of inquiring into his past almost-romances. "What about him, kid?"

"She said he'd assisted a bunch of different professors over the years … Montreau! Montreau was one of them!"

"Okay …" Jack couldn't remember a single one of the names Matty had rattled off.

"Professor Montreau was the guy I went to Paris to meet right before Murdoc …"

Jack was already getting out his phone. Mac didn't need to finish; Jack had already picked up the thread. "Hey there, Matty. I got another little tidbit for ya to look into …"

For the first time since he'd walked out of Phoenix all those months ago, Mac felt like he really knew where he was going.

Well, maybe not where he was going. But he knew he was on the right road.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Matty glared at her cell phone. She'd been making calls for days now. It wasn't like Sam to not pick up her phone. Or at least it hadn't been. Matty did some mental math and realized it was about three in the morning outside Sydney where the Cage family ranch was located.

The inconvenient time didn't change the fact that Matty needed to talk to her. And since the day Cage had agreed to come work with her at CIA, Matty had never had to factor in the time. If she called Sam answered. And vice versa.

She was preparing to leave yet another message and move on to the next task on her endless todo list when a more awake than she ought to sound given the time Samantha Cage answered the phone. "Matty, I've been meaning to call you back," she said, and both of them could hear the lie of it. She hurried to add, "Everything okay?"

"Not as such," Matty replied honestly. "Did I wake you?"

"I'd like to be able to tell you yes, but I've never been much of a sleeper, and since Christmas … Well, you can imagine."

"Other than that, how've you been?" Matty wanted to open with, ' _Why the Hell have you been ignoring my calls?_ ' but decided to apply a more indirect approach.

There was a thoughtful silence. "Healing," she finally answered. "But if you're calling about me coming back to Phoenix again, I already told you, I don't think I can do that anymore, even if I were physically able. And I'm not. Not yet."

She didn't say that not wanting to reject another offer to come back was why she'd been letting calls from LA, Matty's or otherwise, go to voicemail. Although that had been part of it. The other part was that Phoenix was on Murdoc's radar, and she didn't want anything to do with that crazy bastard. Ever again. Things he'd said, what he claimed to know … That was almost as bad as getting shot. And it was at least as potentially dangerous and disruptive to the life she'd been making for herself.

"Well, nothing would make me happier than having you back at the office, Sam. Except maybe also having Mac back at the office, too, but …"

"I heard he left, but I haven't spoken to him. Is he doing okay?"

There was an edge to her concern. Matty could hear it. Matty quickly surmised that Sam hadn't really been in contact with anyone on the team if she didn't know the general state of Mac's affairs. That in and of itself told her that calling Cage had been the right impulse.

"He was," she allowed. "He's recently gotten some information that has him feeling a little less okay."

"Yeah?" Cage asked, sounding wary.

"A very strange box of documents appeared on his doorstep. It indicates some things about not only Mac but a lot of other familiar faces that has him understandably upset."

"That's a shame. I hoped after he got out of Phoenix his life might settle down into something he could enjoy. Please tell Mac I hope things turn around for him. I really should try to get some sleep now, Matty," she said in a rush, her soft almost drawling accent becoming suddenly somewhat clipped.

"You're one of the faces, Samantha," she pushed. "Only the name these documents put with your face is Amand …"

"No," Cage interrupted sharply. "We can't have this conversation over the phone, Matty. We can't."

There was an unfamiliar frostiness in the tone that took Matty a moment to process. Samantha Cage was afraid. Terrified even. Matty thought silently for a long moment. "Alright. We'll drop it. But let's just say I miss your face and want to see it in person. Would you say no to a visit from an old friend?"

Cage mirrored Matty's thoughtful silence. "It would be lovely to see you," she said carefully. She paused again. "Just you though. Please don't bring …"

"Just me," Matty interrupted. She knew Cage was going to ask her to leave Mac out of this. She _did_ know something. This reaction confirmed it. "As soon as I clear the docket here, I'll be on a plane."

Matty heard Samantha sigh. "See you soon."

0-0-0

"C'mon, Jack, let's go," Mac prodded as Jack was once again craning his neck so his eyes could follow the group of women they'd just passed walking down the sidewalk. "The women are beautiful, the chocolate is amazing, and the skiing is out of this world, and don't even get me started on the Large Hadron Collider; but none of that is why we're in Switzerland, pal."

"Yeah, yeah, but I'm betting some old fart of a doctor ain't nearly as interesting as the rest of the scenery."

Mac snickered.

"What're you laughin' at?"

Mac chuckled. "Dr. Quesnel is your age, Jack. Maybe a couple years younger. Oh, okay I see. Yeah, old fart; that works."

Jack playfully shoved Mac, "Ha ha, very funny." He pointed at Mac's shoes. "Dude, I may be old but at least I don't dress like a grandpa. I mean come on dude, your wardrobe just screams boring."

Mac gave himself a quick once over and rolled his eyes. "If my choice in practical clothing screams boring, then yours is what? Wannabe eighties rock band head banger." He smirked. "Without the hair of course."

Jack was once again distracted by some of the two-legged eye candy walking by, going so far as to wink and smile at a young thirty something that looked like she could have just walked off of a fashion show runway, which she might have considering the disgusted look she sent back as she turned her nose up and continued on her way.

"I could grow hair if I wanted to there Goldilocks." He reached out and mussed Mac's hair. Mac ducked away and gave Jack a light shove, but it was a good-natured one. "And rock n roll never dies bro, it'll always be in style." He grinned at the playful glare and half smirk from the kid.

Jack was happy to see Mac finally relaxing a little bit, and despite not sleeping on the plane, he didn't look half bad. Of course Jack knew from experience, the kid could go days without any real sleep. Food on the other hand was a necessity in Jack's book and considering they weren't technically on a mission, no longer in the Army, and weren't really on a time table, there was no reason for Mac to be living off protein bars. Especially considering the plethora of damn fine food they kept passing by.

"Hey Mac, whaddya say we get a bite to eat?"

Mac looked at his watch, not breaking stride. "Maybe a little later." Mac pulled the piece of paper out of his pocket and checked the address. "Dr. Quesnel's place should be right up the street."

And there it was; the determined mask was right back in place. Jack knew Mac knew exactly where they were going without checking the paper, and Jack knew exactly where it was, too. He'd done his own homework on the location before they'd left L.A., simply for tactical reasons.

If Walsh was as good as everyone seemed to think he was, Jack didn't want to leave anything to chance. He knew every spot he would pick if he wanted to set up a sniper hide and had been clocking everyone that they had passed, noting height, gate, wardrobe selection, and whether or not the people on their phones were really talking to someone on the other end.

Smiling and winking at the eye candy was not quite professional, but it did serve a purpose. To the outsider, he and Mac were just two guys doing the tourist thing.

Not quite ready to go barging in and confronting Quesnel, Jack shoved Mac toward the entrance to a small pastry shop. "Come on dude, I'm starving."

Before Mac could protest, Jack held up a hand and lowered his voice. "Look, I know you want to just go barging in there and get some answers, but…" He placed a hand on Mac's chest effectively stopping the young man from walking around him. "...but I really think we should sit and scope the place out for a bit. Just for a little while. Good idea, doncha think?" He raised his eyebrows and nodded his head trying to get Mac to realize what he was trying to get across.

Mac backed up a step, effectively relieving the pressure of Jack's hand on his chest. He looked over Jack's shoulder toward their objective and took in the surroundings, instantly recognizing all of the places someone would hide if they were waiting for them to show up.

"Jack, the odds of anyone thinking we'd come all the way over here to talk to Dr. Quesnel, given the fact that his name was virtually non-existent in the mountain of paperwork are somewhere between …"

Jack held up a hand effectively stopping Mac's calculations. "Look, I know it's a long shot but," He placed both hands on Mac's shoulders. "Would you please just humor me?"

He could see Mac was right on the edge of agreeing with him. "Besides, this old man needs to eat, kid." He smiled. "Doc Quizno can wait a few, yeah?"

"Quesnel Jack, his name is Quesnel."

"Whatever, dude." Jack pulled the door open indicating Mac should go first. "I'm gonna get me a slice of that nut pie if they got it."

Mac rolled his eyes and let out a relenting sigh. "You mean _Engadnier Nusstorte_?"

Jack shrugged, "Whatever dude, it's a pie with nuts. Ooh, maybe I'll get some queso instead."

Mac sighed, "It's called fondue Jack."

"Not in Texas it ain't," Jack threw over his shoulder heading straight for the glass display case.

Mac just shook his head and followed Jack inside.

It was starting to drizzle out of the grey late afternoon sky, and from a security standpoint, Jack definitely made a good argument for casing the place a little. Besides, the smells coming from the bakery reminded him that he'd gotten used to regular meals over the last few months.

0-0-0

When Cage said she lived "near Sydney", Matty had assumed that meant the family ranch was convenient to the city. Three hours of riding through a flat, dusty, seemingly uninhabited bushland made Matty rethink her perceptions about Australia altogether.

She appreciated that Sam had sent one of the hands to pick her up from the airport. If she didn't know she was with someone who knew where he was going, she might have given up on finding the place a while ago.

When they finally pulled into the dirt parking area at the end of the long driveway Matty was relieved to see a smiling Samantha Cage outside waiting for her. To a casual observer who knew what had happened to her last Christmas, Sam looked great.

Matty wasn't a casual observer. Already almost painfully thin when she'd been hurt, Cage had clearly dropped some weight since returning home, giving her a slightly sharp appearance. And she was pale and tired looking, too. The smile, at least, looked energetic and genuine.

Matty confirmed her suspicions about exactly how much thinner Cage had become when her friend dropped down to hug her. "It's really good to see you, Matty."

"Good to see you, too. And I wish it was just a social call, but …"

"I understand," Sam interrupted. "Let's go inside so I can introduce you to my sister. Then we can go for a walk."

Matty went through the motions with Sam's sister, a dark haired, dark eyed plain young woman a few years older than Sam, was polite to the farm hands they encountered. But a soon as they were out of earshot, walking down the long gravel path to the barn, Matty began bluntly, "I hate to do this to you Sam but, I need to know. Are you Amanda Kelly?"

Cage leaned against the fence and Matty came to a halt beside her. "I … I was born Amanda Kelly. My birth parents … they … Aren't important. Amanda Kelly isn't important. I'm Sam Cage and I have been since I was eleven years old." Her voice was shaking. Damn it, she'd promised herself she'd be more in control than that when she agreed to Matty's visit.

"I think it's all important," Matty said. "I think you know it. I think you maybe even agree with me. Because I think, looking at you right now, you know what Mac found in the box I told you about. And I know you want to help him or you would have told me not to come."

"I … okay," Cage nodded slowly. "I know there was a program. There were experi …"

Cage was on the ground before Matty even processed that a shot had rung out in the otherwise quiet afternoon.

Matty's brain registered the sound instantly. It was one she'd heard too many times in her storied career. It was distinct sound that couldn't be mistaken for anything other than what it was but her brain refused to process it. It was as if she had grabbed a hold of a live wire, the jolt of electricity coursing through her body paralyzing her in that moment.

Time stood still.

Everything was in slow motion as Cage's head snapped back and she crumpled to the ground.

The report of the rifle in the the otherwise quiet afternoon was like a switch had been thrown, bringing Matty out of the involuntary trance.

"Sam!" she yelled, knowing there wouldn't be an answer, and dropping down, grabbing Cage and trying to drag her behind a fence post for cover. Matty lost her footing and cursed. She clawed at Cage's clothing, trying to get some sort of hand hold. She pulled the limp agent to her chest.

When no second shot came, Matty knew the shooter was either on the move, getting position or ...

Her thoughts were interrupted as she heard the spring loaded screen door slam closed as Sam's sister came running from the house, a look of horror on her face. The ranch hands that had come from the barn were shouting something but Matty couldn't understand what it was.

She extracted herself from under Cage and lay the her down as gently as possible. It wasn't until she moved to check on the former agent that she realized the front of her shirt and arms were sticky with blood. Too much blood, her brain processed as she reached out and gently moved the blood soaked blond hair from Cage's face. Her eyes settled on the perfect hole between Cage's eyes.

Matty cupped Cage's face in her hands, ignoring the blood and the buzz of the insects that had already arrived. Cage had always had beautiful green eyes, but … the bullet's impact had knocked out a contact lens and a perfect shockingly blue lifeless eye stared at the heavens.

Matty's brain had known the instant the bullet had impacted that Cage was beyond help but it wasn't until that moment that she actually processed that Samantha was really gone. Matty felt her practiced hardassed control slip a little and her eyes filled. "Oh Sam, I'm so sorry."

0-0-0

"If we sit here any longer we're going to have to buy dinner," Mac complained.

The afternoon had worn on a bit as he and Jack ate and drank coffee at the table nearest the window that faced Dr. Quesnel's office. They saw about what you'd expect from a small town doctor's office; parents and kids, a couple of old folks, and a guy with a bloody hand being escorted by someone wearing a similar uniform that appeared to be construction related. All went in the front door and then came back out a short while later.

"Just a little longer. I've got a bad feelin' about this, man."

Mac shook his head. "Oh, no you don't. Don't start that here, Jack."

"Start what?" he asked innocently.

"That's one of your full on helicopter parent code phrases and I can't handle you going into hover-dad mode and getting between me and the job. This isn't work, Jack. It's my life," he finished with heavy seriousness.

Jack frowned at him. It was one of the exaggerated ones Mac knew would accompany some form of lecture. It was like Jack couldn't even help himself. Jack opened his mouth and confirmed Mac's thoughts. "One I'd like you to get to keep livin'. The stuff in those files … the Agency …"

"None of them have anything to do with Dr. Quesnel Jack. He was a research assistant. And I'll grant you, today is a little grey and miserable, but it's hardly the horror movie ominous you keep imply …"

A distant peel of thunder interrupted Mac before Jack could.

Jack raised an eyebrow, "You we're saying?"

He wasn't going to let Jack being Jack stall them any longer. No one had gone in or out of the doctor's office in almost a half hour. The man was probably wrapping up for the day and Mac wanted to catch him before he was ready to go home. And it was pretty clear, to Mac anyway, that there was no one following them or lying in wait here in this small Swiss town.

"I was saying let's go before the skies open. If we want to take the bus back down the mountain with the rest of our very nice cover of a tour group, we have to be back at the fountain by seven."

Jack sighed. The kid had a point. And not only was the sun setting and evening starting to settle over the town, but the sky was darkening with no-matter-what-Mac-said horror movie worthy thunderheads. "Alright. We can go meet up with the doc. If he knows something, we'll just grab a room at that little B and B that caters to the bridge tourists and make more time to interview him tomorrow."

Mac smiled his relief at not having to argue, and stood, pulling on his coat. They were headed out to door of the bake shop when Mac stopped, heedless of the increasing drizzle. "Huh. That's weird."

"What?" Jack asked, squinting around at their surroundings, still in threat assessment mode.

"No lights in Dr. Quesnel's office."

Jack didn't even waste time verifying Mac's statement, just slipped smoothly in front of him. "You're right. That is weird. Let's take this slow."

When the got across the street, they found the office dark, as it had appeared from the other sidewalk, and the door locked. The pair shared a look, but stayed quiet.

Mac took a heavy duty paper clip out of his jacket pocket, unwound it, and silently went to work on the lock. Jack scanned the street, his hand resting on the cold comforting weight of the custom pistol he kept for missions in places that frowned on firearms possession. He could disassemble it and ditch the parts in less than a minute. For a guy who hated guns, Mac had some real clever ideas about them every once in a while.

After about a minute Mac puffed a frustrated tense sigh. "Someone jammed something in here," he said in a low voice.

Jack drew his weapon. "Well then, let's go in the easy way."

He didn't even wait for Mac to agree before delivering a compact powerful kick to the door.

It was apparent even in the gathering dark that there'd been a struggle here. The men moved stealthily through the office. It was so quiet they could hear the rain picking up outside and the soft rustling sounds of their clothes. Then a door somewhere in the back of the building banged.

They raced to the source of the sound. The record room at the back revealed a back door gaping open and the body of a man slumped on the floor next to one of the filing cabinets.

Jack headed toward the door to see if he could get eyes on whoever slammed it open and Mac dropped down, trying to find a pulse on the forty something man in the traditional white coat who was motionless on the ground.

He processed Jack bolting out the door shouting about being in pursuit of someone at the same moment he processed the petechiae in the lifeless eyes and the ligature marks on the neck of Mac's best lead. The doctor's skin was already cooling. He was beyond help.

Mac took a split second to swear in the most colorful fashion he could manage before he took off into the rain to find Jack. And whoever he was after. If he couldn't question the doctor, he was damned sure going to question his killer.


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: And we're back! I've been slacking something fierce on this one and Gib's been working her tail off on it. We finally got together to post in honor of the premier. Mac and Jack are back! ~ J_

Jack caught a glimpse of his target just as he rounded a corner. To Jack's practiced eye, if he'd had to bet on it, he'd say he was chasing a girl. But this girl was damn fast. Light on her feet and moved like a runner with that stride that seems to magically chew up distance when it looks like they're not even trying.

He cursed. Male or female, his quarry was embarrassing him. He'd been chasing this 'person' for the equivalent of a couple of blocks or whatever they were called in Switzerland and he hadn't gained any ground. He hadn't lost any either, he thought, holding his own, even if it had been quite a few years since he'd had to move with purpose at this kind of altitude.

He heard Mac call out for him and yelled what was supposed to be, "Over here!" but came out garbled between breaths as he was still trying to convince his lungs to work properly. Either way, noise was noise and he trusted Mac would zero in on his position.

The damn kid probably wasn't even breathing hard, he thought as he caught another glimpse of the target sprinting up a path that Jack thought would have been better suited to a mountain goat rather than a forty something operative who was in, let's face it, pretty phenomenal shape, but was still a forty something who'd been professionally pretty hard on his body for a very long time, and was really starting to regret that last piece of nut pie, and cursing the almost mile high elevation as his legs started to burn.

If the pictures on the trail signs were any indication, he knew where they were headed. Mac had shown some interest in the engineering aspect of the world's longest footbridge, but it was definitely not on the kid's preferred list of things to do in Switzerland. He'd better put the kibosh on this chase post haste, he thought. If Jack didn't know better, he'd think the killer was headed that way just to put Mac off his game. A bridge that swung almost 300 feet above the ground seemed like a pretty good way to shake Mac of your tail, if you knew anything about him.

Jack couldn't recall exactly how far the bridge was from the town they'd been in but it felt like he'd already run miles up the damn path and it just kept getting steeper and steeper. He cursed as he almost lost his footing for the umpteenth time, but no way was he going to let Mac's only lead get away from them, not if he could help it.

It was his fault they had missed the opportunity to talk to the doctor. He'd had a bad feeling about just waltzing into the office without checking it out first and Mac had caved to his request. If they had just gone in when Mac wanted to, they wouldn't be running up the side of a mountain in a lightning storm.

Of course, if they went in when Mac wanted to, they might have been caught with their pants down and gotten themselves killed, he reasoned.

What little light there was from the sunset had long since gone and Mother Nature was doing her darndest to build up one heck of a storm. The flashes of lightning that seemed to be getting more frequent, and a whole helluva lot closer, lit up the night sky. Not such a bad thing, considering it was getting darker.

Jack could work in pitch black if he had to, but that was moving with stealth where the eyes had time to adjust to the different shades of black in the forest. Stealth was not the order of the day right now and while he hated lightning, he was thankful for the hair raising demonstration Mother Nature was putting on at the moment.

Every time the sky lit up, the trees cast shadows everywhere, making it a little difficult to pick out movement at first but Jack caught a glimpse further up the trail and he knew they were still closing in on their killer. Luckily, the higher they went, the thinner the trees were, giving way to bare rock that had been worn smooth from millions of years of being battered by wind and rain.

"Jack!" Mac yelled a short distance behind him.

Jack kept his eyes forward and had slowed to a slow jog, partly because he didn't want to run into an ambush and partly because he was getting damn tired.

"Bout time you caught up," he wheezed as Mac jogged up to him barely breathing hard.

"Dr. Quesnel is dead. Probably strangulation. You get a look at who we're chasing?" Mac asked, making a move to run past Jack.

Jack grabbed him by the coat and pulled him back, to a slow jog. "Didn't see a face but if I had to guess, I'd say our killer's a chick."

Mac didn't comment on Jack's theory, he just started to increase his stride. Jack reached out and grabbed him once again, knowing he couldn't keep up with a fleet-footed, determined, hell bent on getting some answers, Mac.

If he'd let Mac go, he had no doubt the kid could catch up to whoever they were chasing and Mac had mad skills when it came to hand to hand combat, but no one was bullet proof and there was no way he was going to let Mac get himself shot. And maybe their killer had strangled the doctor, but there was no telling if they were otherwise armed.

"Unless you can make a big ass floodlight outta twigs and rocks so I can tag 'em from a distance, how about we take it a little slow, huh?"

"So slowing down is gonna help us see them better?" Mac snapped.

"No, but a floodlight might let me know if they're armed. And between the two of us, only one of us could shoot back, so if we catch up, I'd rather be there first."

It was a good thing it was dark because Jack could imagine the glare he was getting.

Mac stopped in his tracks, lifting his ever-present messenger bag over his head and squatting down to rummage through it.

Jack stopped a few feet in front of Mac, bent over with his hands on his knees, attempting to catch his breath. "What're you doin?" he asked between breaths. "If you're gonna make something, I vote a set of NVG's."

"I'm not making night vision goggles, Jack." Mac stood as he found what he was looking for, and slung the bag back over his shoulders, adjusting the strap across his chest.

"I'm pretty sure I know where we're headed," Jack wheezed.

"Me too," Mac said with admirable control over a natural dread of crossing that bridge. If he were here as a tourist he wouldn't hike the damned thing for all the chocolate in the country. But this wasn't exactly recreational, so there wasn't a lot of choice here. He clicked on the small flashlight he had attached to a key ring. "Happy now?" He sprinted past Jack before the older man could react.

"Goddammit, Mac!" Jack cursed and urged his tired legs to try to keep up with the determined kid.

He was twenty feet or so behind Mac when their suspect left the path and sprinted out onto the bridge. Lightning flashed and he saw Mac arrive at the edge and freeze for a split second. The next flash of lighting split the sky at the same moment thunder crashed about thirty seconds later as Jack was putting his own feet on the bridge for the first time. It felt like the world was trying to shake apart. And to compound their troubles, the skies finally stopped screwing around and just opened, like someone in the sky with a serious axe to grind with a couple of spies, opened a giant tap.

Another thunderclap and lightning flash happened simultaneously.

The killer turned and Jack saw the muzzle flash but didn't hear it over the rain and rolling thunder. He did see Mac drop down and he had that stomach sinking feeling that Mac had been hit, but by the time he got to where Mac was, his partner was on his feet again, back in pursuit of their suspect.

They were only about forty feet onto the rain-slicked bridge when lightning struck in the woods on the other side, shooting up sparks, and filling the air with smoke. Thunder shook the whole area. Jack grabbed Mac's coat again. "We got get offa here, kid!"

"No! We're gaining on her! I'm not letting her get away again!"

Jack wasn't sure he'd heard Mac right through the pouring rain and the wind. "Again?"

When he turned, Jack could see fear on Mac's face, which he'd expected out here on this damn bridge. Jack wasn't afraid of heights even a little bit, but it was disconcerting for even him to feel the sway of the structure in the wind and rain and to see the ground almost thirty stories below them when the lightning lit it up. But there was something else there too. Anger? Frustration? Betrayal. That's what it was. It was the look Mac got when he talked about his father, especially in reference to him being Oversight. It was the same look Mac had when Jack had seen him after he read those files. "It's Nikki!"

Mac tried to wrest his arm free from Jack's grasp, but lightning flashed and thunder peeled again. "Mac! We gotta go!"

Jack saw the dark figure of their target nearing the otherside in the spare light of Mac's flashlight. But the most recent evidence of the deadly nature of the storm seemed to get Mac's feet moving back toward solid ground. They made it off the bridge before lighting struck it, made it as far as the shelter of some boulders before the storm got any worse. As they crouched down waiting for the worst of the storm to pass, getting drenched, but at least no longer likely lightning-strike targets, they were pressed shoulder to shoulder in the crevasse of rock.

Jack could feel Mac shaking.

He thought maybe it was from adrenaline bleeding off, or maybe just from the experience of being on that bridge, especially in those circumstances. The time they'd used balloons and a trampoline to escape Mac hadn't actually stopped shaking visibly until several hours later. But in another lightning flash he saw Mac's face.

The young man was so angry he could barely contain the feeling. Jack wanted to say something, but knew Mac wouldn't be able to hear it in the storm anyway.

His eyes met Jack's and Jack was grateful they'd known each other for long enough to read each other pretty well. The look said he was a hundred percent certain he'd seen Nikki. Any doubts he'd had about the authenticity of those files had gone up in smoke in one lightning strike, like deadwood in a drought subjected to the same thing. Jack just squeezed Mac's shoulder and nodded, letting him know he understood.

Mac closed his eyes for a minute, letting the rain cool his anger along with his skin.

He still felt like his whole life had been taken from him, felt like his father had taken it.

He was going to start taking some things back.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Mac was nearly silent the whole dark, drenching, miserable trek back to town. Jack tried to get him talking a few times, but Mac just irritably gestured like he wasn't able to hear Jack over the steady rain and wind that persisted after the thunderstorm passed.

If it had been anyone else, Jack would have bought it, but Mac had ears like a freaking bat. So his silence was more him hearing a long internal lecture about all his perceived shortcomings than it was any failure of the senses.

 _Typical_.

When Mac was stressed, he withdrew. Even more so since he began his search for his father, started to deal with his past. Since he'd discovered who Oversight really was, Mac had been particularly prone to shutting down, or going off on his own, then apologizing later for it. If he did anything that reminded him remotely of James, Mac got … complicated.

When they got back to the bed and breakfast they'd eyed earlier, the one place in town with a Vacancy sign out front, Mac busied himself with securing a double room and negotiating for a bag of rice and a bowl so he could dry out their phones.

When he offered that Jack should go first down the hall to the communal bathroom to get warmed up and into dry clothes (ie the touristy printed sweats they'd procured at a gift shop that was closing up when they'd gotten back to town), Jack was starting to be openly concerned.

The anger he'd seen in Mac's face up by that bridge had melted into a carefully blank expression he was all too familiar with. "You sure, kid? You're shivering."

Mac rolled his eyes a little as he popped the battery out of his phone, toweled the device and the power pack off, and stuffed them down into the rice, waving his hand for Jack's phone. "Go ahead, Jack. Your teeth are chattering, man."

Jack frowned at him. He could easily turn this into one of their classic arguments about which of them was worse off, but Jack decided not to argue. Mac had said _Nikki_ and not much else since.

Of all the people they could have run into up here, she was the one, other than maybe Murdoc, that worried him the most. Mac never did think clearly around Nikki Carpenter. Not from the second he met her, hell, the second he'd first seen her from across the room.

"Alright, kid. I'll be back in a few."

"Mmmm," Mac agreed, not looking up from where he was trying to pop Jack's phone case open so he could dry it out.

Jack couldn't tell if Mac was angry with him, with the situation, with Nikki … or if he wasn't angry at all. It was possible the carefully controlled expression was concealing disappointment, another in a long line of them.

Their lead was in a body bag. Mac probably had that on his mind, too.

Jack was trying to decide how to draw Mac out but was distracted by the Herculean task of shucking off soaked clothes. Nothing quite like wrestling off wet denim to remind a guy what learning tie-down roping was like back at a time in his life where the calves could both outweigh and out-ornery him.

The shower was heavenly after the chilling, soaking rain. Jack didn't linger, didn't want to use up all the hot water or anything, but it was still longer than a just-get-cleaned-up shower.

He thought he looked like an old folks home escapee in the sweats he'd bought at the gift shop, but they were dry and soft and allowed him a measure of dignity that wouldn't have been afforded to him if he'd had to go to the laundry room wrapped in a towel to start drying his clothes.

He shouldn't have been surprised when he got back to the room and found Mac asleep at the small desk, but he was. The kid was still soaked, to the point where a small puddle had formed on the hardwood floor beneath his chair and you could see the edge of the area rug dampening. He leaned forward, resting his head on his arm, looking for all the world about sixteen. And that was generous.

Jack smirked and shook his head. If his phone wasn't wet, he'd take the world's most perfect blackmail picture. Then he noticed Mac's lips were still tinged faintly blue. He reached out and shook his friend's damp shoulder.

"C'mon, kid. Your turn. Hot shower."

Mac made a vaguely grumpy sound. "Mmmmm. Later. Tired."

"Mmmmm," Jack mimicked and saw one corner of Mac's lips quirk up, a good indication that he wasn't that sleepy. "Now. Cold."

Mac peeled an eye open. "Five more minutes?" he attempted with plenty of humor behind it, but a lilt that also said if Jack would let him, he'd close his eyes again.

Jack chuckled. "Sure. If you're feeling up to testing out Swiss healthcare to see if they've made any improvements since the last time you did something dumb in this neck of the woods. Given the climate they're probably pretty good with hypothermia."

Mac chuckled softly and stood and stretched, mindful of the puddle by his feet. "Think I'll pass. I'll stick to their pocket knives this visit. And just to keep that parental helicopter right on the tarmac, old man, possible first stage hypothermia isn't a reason to seek health care. It's a reason to grab a hot shower and maybe a coffee."

He closed the door on any response Jack might have come up with.

Mac was gone long enough that Jack was more than half convinced the kid had fallen back asleep in the shower. Mac came in just when Jack had made up his mind to go looking, dressed almost identically. Jack had to conceal a teasing grin. Kid didn't look like a retirement home escapee. More like a high school freshman cutting gym class. Jack kept the thought to himself. Mac was already having a rough day.

Instead Jack frowned, and asked, "Where the hell you been? Thought you drowned in the bathtub or somethin'."

Mac just grinned and held up the paper bag he'd been carrying under one arm. "Provisions. Which you ought to approve of, since it's all hot."

Mac took out several mugs and thermoses and started serving what was going to be a much better dinner than the trail mix they'd purchased when they got the sweats. The first mug he passed Jack was a thick soup.

He took a wonderful warm drink of it. "This is Heaven," he sighed, feeling the heat already starting to spread out from his stomach.

"It's actually _buender gerste suppe_ , and the lady of the house insists it's the best there is." Mac raised his eyebrows as he unscrewed the other thermos. "This is also apparently Switzerland's best drinking chocolate which, since she let me taste it while she was warming it up, I can totally vouch for."

Jack eyed him skeptically for a moment. Sustenance, especially the kind that went beyond a stale granola bar out of his messenger bag, was usually Mac's last thought. Jack took a sip of the cocoa, which he noted was spiked with something quite pleasant, kirsch if he had to guess. It was absolute bliss after the day they'd put in. Jack had several mugs worth in fairly quick succession and was not only warmer, but feeling at least slightly better about their situation.

Mac had exactly one mug of the soup and one of the cocoa, then said he was wrecked and thought he'd just hit the hay. He was in bed, wrapped in one of the room's heavy comforters, and turned away from Jack, before the older man could swallow his current mouthful of cherry chocolate paradise.

"You really think it was Nikki, bud?" he asked Mac's back.

"It was Nikki," he answered quietly.

"But … like … it was a helluva storm up there and we never got all that close …"

"It was Nikki," he repeated firmly.

"So what do you think …"

"Tomorrow, Jack. I have a headache."

Jack frowned at his partner's back. It would have been much more in character to just ignore him or pretend to be asleep, albeit often unconvincingly. The tired resignation, the admission of pain, was profoundly worrying to Jack.

He knew all this must have the kid about at the end of his rope. But to essentially hear him admit it sent Jack's spidey senses into overdrive.

He was half expecting a frustrated sigh after fifteen minutes or so and for Mac to throw back the covers and want to talk about the possibilities for most of the night or at least until Jack's need for sleep shut them down. Instead, after about a half an hour, Mac started murmuring softly and rolled over, throwing an arm over his face; a sure sign he was really asleep.

Eventually Mac was going to have to really talk about all this. Eventually he was going to have to deal with the effect the revelations in that box were having on him.

Jack sighed and poured himself another hot chocolate out of the thermos. Tonight, however, Angus MacGyver had once again, whether by accident or design, avoided any of that. It wasn't really a huge surprise though. If he thought Nikki was back in the picture, there was no telling what kind of knots the kid had wound himself into.

After he finished his warm drink, Jack decided to throw in the towel and get some sleep, too. Freezing your ass off in the rain for a couple of hours after a foot race up the side of a mountain was pretty damned exhausting.

When Jack woke the next morning, he knew it was too quiet in the room by how bright the light streaming in the blinds was. So Mac was either sick, or gone.

Jack rolled over to look at the other bed.

It was neatly made.

So … not sick.

"Son of a bitch!" He threw back the covers and was out of bed like a shot.

Jack's heart hammered in his chest, whether it was from going from supine to upright without so much as giving his body time to adjust to the idea or the fact that Mac was obviously, most definitely, not in the room, he didn't know. Probably a combination of both.

"Mac!" he called out, knowing it was irrational in the small space to think Mac could be in the room, but at the moment it was the only thing his still waking brain could come up with.

It was either that or check under the bed and in the closet, both of which he had to admit were silly, but he did it anyway.

With all the things that Mac had running through his head, there was no telling what his nightmare fueled brain might do. It'd been quite a few years but it wouldn't be outside the realm of possibility for Mac to have sleep-walked right out of the room.

Of course, the kid making the bed, being quiet about it, and sneaking out without waking him up said otherwise. That and the neatly folded, now dry pile of clothes sitting on the dresser.

When Mac had shown up with the soup and spiked chocolate, Jack had completely forgotten about his clothes in the dryer. So, not only had Mac gone out but he came back with their clothes and apparently left again, and Jack had slept through the whole thing.

Jack eyed the bowl of rice Mac had procured the night before and rummaged through it finding only his phone still in pieces.

It was no secret Jack could sleep like the dead when he wasn't on an op, but even then, if he wasn't in his own bed, he would wake at the slightest pin drop.

Not only had Mac made his bed, done the laundry, and snuck out without Jack snapping awake ready to take on whatever demon was in the room, but Mac had also managed to rummage through the rice and grab his phone parts too.

 _Wouldn't be surprised if he sat on the edge of my bed and put the damn thing together just to see if he could do it without waking me up_ , he thought.

Jack scrubbed a hand through his short cropped hair and willed his brain to catch up.

 _God dammit_.

He shucked the old man sweats for his usual attire. _What the hell was so all fired important Mac decided he had to go sneaking out for?_ he thought, putting his phone back together and thanking the powers that be that not only did he still have battery left but he had service too.

"Better be one hell of a bagel or whatever it is they got for breakfast around here that you just _had_ to go out and get this morning, dude," Jack said to the empty room, hitting speed dial and speaker on the phone and tossing it on the bed as he propped his booted foot up to tie the laces.

He was ready to read the kid the riot act as soon as he picked up, but Mac's phone went straight to voicemail on the first ring.

"Dude, you better be bringing back something awesome for breakfast. If that's not it, you got some explainin' to do." Jack paused thinking maybe that wasn't the best approach and added, letting the concern he was feeling come through, "Seriously Bro, gimme a call."

Jack hit end and secured his weapon in the still damp ankle holster.

"Hey, Jack. I just forgot to turn my phone on and decided to go out and get us some more of that blunder bus and chocolate booze for breakfast. Everything's cool, pal," Jack mimicked Mac as he searched every dresser and nightstand drawer for a note or some other sign from Mac.

Eyeing his rumpled bed, he tore the bedding apart, layer by layer, shaking out the comforter, sheets, and pillows hoping to see a piece of paper flutter to the floor. "Yeah, I know, Nikki and all that stuff happened but she's got to be long gone, and I'm over her, dude."

Finding nothing in his own bedding, he turned to Mac's and took about as much care as the Tasmanian devil in preserving the perfectly made, hospital corners and all, bedding.

Finding nothing, and slightly winded by the frenzied search, Jack held a pillow in an iron grip. His frustration and worry boiled to the surface and he threw the pillow across the room.

He sat heavily on his own bed, surveying the state of the now ransacked room and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, leg pumping with nervous energy.

He could have Riley ping Mac's phone but that would require an explanation Jack just couldn't come up with; besides, he had a sneaking suspicion Sir Oversight still had his eye on Phoenix and he didn't want to tip him off that they were chasing this down.

Nikki beating them to the doctor was another problem all its own. Could just be a coincidence, but he doubted even Mac could calculate the odds of that.

No one but Matty knew they were coming here and despite the sliver of doubt he had when Mac had shown him the box of files, he trusted Matty implicitly.

Jack shoved off the bed and stuffed his phone in his back pocket. First stop, the lady of the house.

0-0-0

Mac picked his way carefully up the trail. It was too early for much tourist activity, but Mac did encounter a few brave souls out to watch the ends of the sunrise from the bridge. Their friendly overtures were met with smiles, head shakes, shrugs, and holding his hands open to indicate confusion. It said, "Sorry guys, I don't speak the language." And contrary to Bozer's constant assertions to the contrary, Mac was a hell of a liar when he wanted to be.

He wanted to be alone to scan the area for clues, evidence, and unfortunately, shell casings, uninterrupted. He crouched down when he saw something glinting in the growing light.

A piece of wire.

The murder weapon. Nikki was unquestionably a murderer now. Mac shivered. Strangulation was such an intimate act of violence. It was the sort of thing … how had Murdoc put it … you saved for when you wanted the last thing your victim felt to be your breath on their neck.

It had creeped the living hell out of him when Murdoc said it, even when Mac's blissful ignorance at the time told him Murdoc was under permanent lock and key. But right now, that it had been the choice of a woman he'd shared a bed with for a good bit of his early twenties, a woman he had … _Ugh._ It made him nauseated, hurt his head.

He'd told Jack it had only been infatuation, lust even. But that was a lie. He'd loved her. More than his own life. He'd risked his own life, Hell, his country's security, to try to save her at Lake Como. And he'd fallen back into bed with her so easily, had wanted more than anything to pick up where they'd left off before Italy after that night in the hotel during the Chrysalis fiasco. But for her, it was more and more apparent, none of it had ever been real. She'd used him, time and again. Now this.

He would have woken Jack this morning. He'd even shaken his shoulder before he'd gone and gotten their clothes. He'd meant to bring Jack out here with him. But when Jack had just snorted and rolled over, even after he'd literally sat on the edge of Jack's bed to reassemble his phone, he'd made a snap decision to come out here on his own first.

He glanced at his watch.

 _Shit_.

He took out his phone and saw four voicemails. _Shit, shit. Three guesses who those are from and none of them count because it's definitely Jack._ Not quite ready for the ass chewing he knew he was going to get, he sent a quick text. 'Tried to wake you. Your snoring sounds like Bigfoot. I'm headed for the bridge. Found the murder weapon.' Then he slipped the phone into his still slightly damp jacket pocket.

He was glad he'd skipped breakfast and come out here on his own. It gave him the chance to get on top of his emotions; to get his game face back on. He didn't want to admit how shaken he was. It wasn't just about Nikki. Although on its own that was pretty damned gutting.

But it was more than than. Quesnel had been a real lead. Not to mention he was some small town doctor who'd probably just seen some random piece of research he shouldn't have, years ago when he was just some college kid. And the guy had tried to do the right thing.

That was the real hell of it. He'd probably been a good guy, if he was the sort to oppose the kind of unwilling experiments catalogued in that box. And the last thing he knew was fear, the last thing he felt was a killer's breath. Mac could all too easily identify with just being a kid who wanted to do the right thing only to have it sneak up and seriously bite you in the ass later.

He was lucky Nikki hadn't been the end of him, too. How many nights had he slept next to her, feeling safer than he ever had? How many of those nights had she lay awake next to him planning betrayal?

 _Okay, MacGyver, that's about enough of that_ , he snapped at himself. He knew that down that particular path lay madness, or at least, that's what his grandfather always said about obsessing over the past, the mighthavebeens. Gramps said more than once that he thought that was one of the things that had trapped his father in his own considerable mind, made him hard to relate to.

 _Nope_. That wasn't a helpful train of thought either. He wasn't going to think about his father until the evidence forced him to. Another little flash caught his eye. He bent down and combed his fingers through the grass, coming up with an ACP .45 caliber shell casing. She was carrying her G21. That was Nikki's getting serious sidearm of choice. He knew because they'd argued about her sleeping with it in the nightstand. They'd finally agreed that he wouldn't say anything about it if it was next to her bed, but the nightstand in his house was off limits.

He crawled around the area for several minutes to see if he could find any more.

When it became clear that was the only one, Mac stood slowly. " _You're stalling. Any particular reason for that?"_ The condescending voice in his head asked. "Not now, Dad," he mumbled aloud, not really cognizant of doing so.

He was going to have to cross the bridge. At least, he bargained with himself, at least he didn't have to look down. There wasn't likely to be much of anything on the bridge itself, other than maybe some tourists. Evidence, if any had fallen there, had likely continued falling, right though the many holes between the slats. " _They aren't that full of holes, Angus."_

 _I thought I told you to be quiet,_ he said, this time keeping it in his own head. Of course, his imaginary father was right. There could realistically be evidence on the bridge. And any little thing that might lead them to Nikki was critical.

He approached the bridge slowly, but without any visible hesitation. He got right up to the edge before his feet just refused to move forward for a handful of seconds. _This is ridiculous. I was in the middle of this bridge last night getting shot at and almost hit by lightning and I didn't even think about how high up it is, or how it sways when the wind comes up, or how slippery the boards look when they're wet, or … Okay, knock it off, Mac. You just need to see if there's anything out here 'real quick' as Jack would say, then you can go wake up the old man himself, tell him what you've got and figure out what to do next._

Mac took a deep breath, and found he needed another. He'd worked himself up to stepping on the bridge while also looking all around, meaning down too, but a voice that sounded a predictable amount of pissed off, understanding, and half amused, called out, "No feelings about the bridge! Does that work for this, or only when something's about to blow you up?

"Huh?" Mac turned, expecting the same combination of emotions from Jack's voice to be on his face, and he wasn't disappointed, but he thought he must've heard Jack wrong because those weren't words he'd heard out loud in a long time.

Jack grinned and drew Mac aside so a pair of women up here hiking together could pass. "You say that under your breath when you're working on a bomb."

Mac blushed and fidgeted almost imperceptibly. "Pena used to say that all the time in training. I …" he smiled fondly. "I always hear him in my head. Didn't realize I actually …"

Jack patted him on the shoulder. "They never really leave us, kid." Then his eyebrows climbed. "Speaking of leavin', there, pal, what're you doing out here all on your own?"

Mac shrugged. "Looking around. Seeing if she left anything behind to give us some ideas of what to do next."

Jack frowned. "You should've woken me up, Mac."

Mac laughed, and it sounded real. "I tried! You were sawing logs through me shaking you, drinking coffee in the room, and putting my phone together. I figured …"

"What?"

"I figured … you've been running all over hell and gone helping me out, still working your job, moving … I figured you were running on fumes and I should just let you sleep. I planned to be back before you even got up. That's all."

"No bullshit?"

"No …" Mac stopped himself. "Mostly no bullshit. I …" He shrugged. "Let's get across and hope she did something sloppy. You can get me drunk on the flight home on those dollhouse sized bottles of gin and I'll tell you the part where it's a little bullshit, okay?"

Jack cracked a smile. Mac was trying really hard to stop being quite so closed off. As far as Jack was concerned that admission represented real progress. "Okay by me, Mac."

Mac managed a little half smile in return. "Alright then, let's get this over with."

Jack put a hand on his shoulder briefly as he passed, leading the way onto the bridge. "So you found the murder weapon?" he asked over his shoulder as he walked briskly along, quickly covering ground while scanning the bridge for anything out of place.

Mac had to double time for a minute to catch up. When he didn't answer right away, Jack tried again. "Tell me about this murder weapon."

Mac recognized the tactic. Get him talking about work or science and whatever unpleasant bullshit he has to force himself to do suddenly becomes easier as the more rational part of his mind takes over. He appreciated it even now that he saw it for what it was rather than writing it off as Jack chattering because that's just what Jack does. Game face firmly in place, he answered in a voice that sounded much calmer than he felt as he caught glimpses of the ground far below. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure I did. Some wire, long enough to have been used as a garrote."

"That's cold, man."

"Yeah. It is." A gust of wind came up and the bridge swayed what felt to Jack like a tiny fraction of an inch. Mac gasped just audibly and both hands shot out and grabbed the railings. "And you officially have my permission to shoot her."

Jack stopped and turned around. "You alright out here, kid?"

Mac pried his hands off the bridge. "Peachy." He looked around. They'd made it about halfway now and the sway wasn't abating with the wind, which structurally made sense, but knowing the engineering principles behind suspension bridges didn't actually make him a whole hell of a lot more comfortable. He tilted his chin at the other side. "Hurry up. I want off this thing."

Jack slapped him on the back and gestured for Mac to go ahead of him. "I got my eyes peeled, kid. You go ahead just as fast as you want."

Mac's head dipped a fraction in slight embarrassment. Then he frowned. He realized Jack used to tease him in merciless older brother fashion about his fear of heights. And he always supposed it was fair because he often hassled Jack about his large collection of quirky fears that included the very Big Foot Mac said Jack's snoring sounded like. But since Mexico, since Oversight … Jack had been nothing but sort of quietly sympathetic. "I'm fine. Two heads are better than one. Let's go though."

Jack nodded, concealing a small smile. There really was no quit in that kid. Not one bit. "Alright, let's finish this up and get out of here. Maybe we can catch a decent meal before we fly out."

Mac started walking. "Please don't talk to me about food while we're eighty-five meters off the ground and over two hundred meters from the end."

Jack kept pace with Mac. He decided Mac maybe needed a little more help getting out of his own head. "Eighty five meters, huh? What's that in normal people talk?"

"Approximately two hundred eighty feet," Mac replied absently, bending to pick up what he thought was another shell casing, but turned out to actually be a pin someone had lost. It was a pretty one, too. Then again, maybe it wasn't just someone who lost it. Maybe it belonged to Nikki. He slipped it into his pocket and kept moving.

"You think this thing is high enough to BASE jump off of?"

"I'm sure it is. The lowest BASE jump on record was thirty-two meters off St. Paul's cathedral in London by a guy named Powell. That's a hundred five feet. You know, in normal people talk. Or too damned high to screw around on for fun in normal people brains."

Jack grinned. He'd ask how Mac knew stuff like that but he'd learned a long time ago that knowing things was just part of being Mac. "I've told you a million times, Mac. I ain't never been normal and I got no plans on startin' now."

"Well, you know what they say about old dogs …"

"Ha ha, kid. What have we discussed about calling me old?"

"Not to do it in front of girls," Mac replied with a smirk.

"I guess if that's all I can get, I'll take it." Jack stopped for a second and looked over the side. "I would dearly love to jump this. I'd even take bungee jumping it, man. It's gorgeous up here. And … man, I love the rush."

"I know you do, pal. I personally prefer my heart feeling like it thinks it belongs in my chest, but you do you."

"You _are_ good at jumping though," Jack observed.

"Doesn't mean I'm ever going to do it for fun," Mac replied wryly.

"I'll getcha there one of these days, Mac."

"Sure. Yeah. I'll start BASE jumping and … hmmm … You'll start maybe … playing with ouija boards … or hmmm, maybe you'll get a bunch of black cats … or … I know … You'll start donating blood for fun, but maybe the specialized kind that uses apheresis so they have to use both arms and stick those big, huge," was as far as Mac got before Jack interrupted.

"Fine! I'll just come over here all by my lonesome next vacation and have a high old time jumping off here all the ways they'll let me. And also, not cool, dude."

Mac laughed, partially because it was always fun to beat Jack at his own game, and in part because he finally stepped off the bridge. "Sorry, man. You were kind of asking for it though."

Jack chuckled in response, joining Mac on solid ground and noticing his partner's shoulders already lowering. "Maybe a little." He paused, looking around. "You think we missed anything?"

Mac shrugged. "Maybe. But I'm damned sure not curious enough to go back over that for a second look." Jack laughed and Mac managed not to flush with embarrassment. It actually felt good to have Jack back to teasing him about his acrophobia a little bit. "Let's just hit the loop part of the trail and go get some chow before we have to catch the bus to the airport."

"Sounds good to me, kid." The circular hike was long, and they didn't think Nikki had gone that way. She'd probably headed off in the other direction, but it would get them back to town without crossing the bridge again, so Jack was more than willing to get sore feet to spare his already emotionally exhausted partner the ordeal.

He glanced around one last time. "Wait … what's that there?"

Jack pointed to a little flap of white fluttering in the brisk wind. Mac turned. "Yeah, what ..?" He stepped back toward the bridge and frowned. "It's a note."

He picked up the edge and sighed. The paper was tied to the post with more of the wire he'd found on the ground on the other side. Also tied to the note was another shell casing. He undid the wire and sensed Jack joining him to read over his shoulder. He unfolded it.

"Well, no question it was Nikki."

 _He wants you alive but that wouldn't have stopped me. I didn't have to miss. 3_

"Huh."

Mac sighed again. "Kind of wish I'd slept in, too."

"This _is_ pretty weird, kid."

"Yeah, if I'd slept in, weird could have waited until after breakfast. And I wouldn't have freaked you out so you'd blow up my phone and leave four messages. We'd both be having a better morning," he said in what passed for a tension breaking attempt at humor.

Instead of joking back like Mac was expecting, Jack frowned, cocking his head to one side. "I didn't blow up your phone. I called you once."

Mac fished his phone out of his pocket and opened the recent calls. He looked up at Jack. "Matty."

Jack checked his own phone. "Me, too."

Mac's eyes widened and he dialed the boss with the phone on speaker.

"Mac?"

"Matty, we just …"

"Thank God. When I couldn't reach you and Riley couldn't find your phones it took ten years off my life." She sounded shaken, tense.

"Matty, what's wrong?" Jack asked taking a step closer.

"I can't tell you over the phone. I need you guys to come home."

Mac's face creased into the sort of frown that could make you believe he was almost thirty. "We're on our way this evening, Matty. That's when our flight back is scheduled," Mac hedged.

"You're coming home on the Phoenix jet. I don't care if it blows the cover on this op, you guys are in serious danger."

"Don't we know it," Jack groused, thinking again of the flashes of lighting and of gunfire.

Mac just shook his head. "When and where for exfil, Matty?" Mac could feel the tension he'd already been feeling ratcheting up about ten notches with the conversation.

"I'm at the airport waiting for you already."

Mac and Jack exchanged a look. Matty coming herself was bad.

"We're on our way," Mac said for both of them.

They headed for town by way of the bridge without even discussing it. It would get them back hours sooner. Mostly they were trying to decide how they were going to get an earlier ride down the mountain than the bus.

Going back over the bridge, Mac didn't notice how high it was even once.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Mac knew what she was going to say.

Maybe not exactly. But he'd known from the pain and worry in her dark eyes that someone was gone. He was pretty sure he knew who, but not sure enough to move back from the edge of reacting, or to leap over it and reveal what he was thinking just yet.

She wouldn't deliver the news until they were in the air and based on how she was looking at him, if he hadn't gotten a text from Bozer asking if he was going to be around over the weekend, and seen Riley at the back of the jet typing away on her keyboard, he'd have been near to panic by the time she was ready to talk.

Matty sat on the sofa across from her two agents. "I …"

She stopped, looking back and forth between them. "Matty, What is it?" Jack leaned forward in his seat.

"It's …" she tried again.

Mac's head dropped so he could stare at his shoes. "It's Cage. They got to her before you could."

"What? How did you ..?"

Mac swallowed hard as she confirmed his suspicion. Then he opened his mouth to answer her and found he couldn't speak past the lump in his throat. The sense of hopeless certainty that another life had been snuffed out by simple association to him felt like a boulder on his chest.

"I didn't. But it was a pretty good bet that after you saw the Amanda Kelly file you were going to call her. She was your friend." He paused for a minute, looking down at the backs of his hands. Finally his pained blue eyes met Matty's. "I'm so sorry, Matty."

Her chin had been on the verge of quivering but now it firmed. "Don't you dare do that to yourself, Mac."

"What?"

"Take this on yourself, like it's your fault. This is happening _to_ you not _because_ of you."

He sighed. "Still, I'm sorry."

They were all quiet then. After a few moments where the only sound was Riley's clicking keys, Jack spoke softly. "Sonofabitch."

Muc turned his head to take in Jack's frown. "What is it?"

Jack cleared his throat. "Well, we came to Switzerland to talk to that doc and Nikki was here at exactly the same time to off him …"

"What?!" Matty practically shouted.

Mac held up a hand for patience. "We'll get to that. Go on, Jack."

"Then Matty contacts Cage and _BAM_ , they get her too. Right on time."

"You think they're tracking us somehow, have an eye on our movements." Mac's voice was hollow, his eyes starting to take on the slow fire that spoke of true anger.

Jack leaned back on the couch looking more tired than anything else. "I think they must be."

"But how?" Matty asked, frowning. "We cleaned house after the siege on Phoenix and again when …"

"When Oversight dropped off the map," Mac finished for her. "How sure are you that everything was swept, digitally I mean?"

"Well, Riley…"

Riley piped up from the back, "I did everything I could do," she said defensively, but then she sighed. "But they were good. And Oversight … i mean, he was part of designing the system. I could be missing something."

Mac's elbows found his knees, then his head found his hands. "It can't be a coincidence that Walsh got into the system when Murdoc escaped and the Organization almost took us all out." He took a ragged breath. "That had to be a coordinated effort. Walsh was working for or with the Organization."

"Christ," Jack murmured, leaning back against the cushions of the couch. "You're right. You must be."

"And my father had a clone of Riley's description device … and Walsh didn't ambush us until after I'd had a chance to see … it was almost like it was timed perfectly. Scripted."

Matty realized Mac was shaking, ever so slightly. She sat down on the couch next to him. "You think your father let them in to Phoenix somehow, that he was working with Walsh to get the KX7 files out of Phoenix and the drug into active production again."

Mac's silence and carefully controlled breathing was as good as a yes. He chewed his lip for a while. No one seemed to know what to say. He got to his feet and started pacing the length of the jet.

Jack's eyes followed him for a while. "We could try questioning Tennant again," he said thoughtfully. "But, you know, maybe less politely than last time."

Matty frowned. "Questioned him personally. I had Cage question him." She swallowed hard. "She was the best there was. Neither of us got anything."

Jack's expression had evolved into a sharp disquieting smile. "We could move him to a black site. Get a little more creative in our methods."

Mac stopped pacing and dropped onto the couch next to Jack like suddenly his own weight was just too much to bear. "It might be worth thinking about. But …"

"But?" Matty prompted.

"But," Mac began, then stopped, sighed, and tried again. "We all know there's someone involved who'd delight in explaining how he and his co-conspirators got one over on me."

"Mac, we've been trying to bring Murdoc back in for months," Matty began.

Mac nodded. "But," he began again.

"But what?" she prompted a second time.

This time Jack interrupted. "But he's got a terrible idea and we're not gonna like it?"

Mac forced a small smile. "Pretty much."

"I don't like this, man."

"You? I'm shocked," Mac answered with an affectionate roll of his eyes.

Over the comms, Riley added, "Seriously, Jack, you've said it so much in the last hour, you'd think I told you about the ring …"

"Ring! What ring?"

Mac and Riley both started laughing. Mac patted Jack on the shoulder, "I'm guessing the imaginary one she knew would get that reaction. But that's maybe just me."

"Riley?!" Jack demanded, distracted from his worry about this mission by his protective streak that was reserved for Riley.

Mac grinned as her laughter rippled over the coms. "Alright, Old Man. There's no ring … Yet."

"One of these day," Jack complained. "You two are gonna be the death of me."

"Or maybe you'll go bald instead of just grey," Riley supplied helpfully.

"You know what," Jack began.

Mac interrupted. "There he is."

His hand was on the door handle almost before he finished speaking.

"Hold your horses, kid," Jack said, putting a hand on his over eager partner's shoulder. Mac stopped, but remained poised to move. "Ri?" Jack prompted.

"I'm not picking up any surveillance signals. Just the cell phone chatter you'd expect."

Mac raised an eyebrow at Jack. Jack removed the restraining hand from Mac's shoulder. "I'll be right behind you, kid."

Over the comms, Matty agreed, "We have your back."

Mac stepped out of the car in the cool misting rain of a busy Parisian evening. He slipped his hands in his pockets strode across the street with a confidence that, at one point in his life, he'd never have believed himself capable. That tentative young man from MIT who was too shy, to damaged, to even ask Frankie out for coffee unless they were talking over schoolwork with a group, was a world away from who he'd become.

He heard Jack's car door a few moments later, just as he stepped onto the sidewalk. A doorman opened the door for him. "Bonsoir, monsieur."

Mac nodded politely.

A young woman in crisp black pants and a startlingly white shirt asked, "Avez-vous une réservation?"

Mac shook his head. "Je rencontre un ami."

"Oui, tres bien." She gestured toward the dining room with a little bow.

Mac smiled and nodded his thanks. He loved Paris. Someday, maybe, he'd get to come here and just enjoy the city. But not today.

He skirted around the back of a chair as its occupant was finishing a phone call. "I'll be home soon. Daddy is meeting someone for work. You be good for Lissette and I'll bring you some dessert."

It was so disconcerting to hear that warmth in _that_ voice. Mac fixed his game face firmly in place and sat down at the table across from one of the only people on earth who'd ever actually frightened him. The shark's eyes settled on his face with mild surprise and … pleasure. He was glad it was Mac. Mac suppressed a shudder. "Evening, Murdoc," he said levelly.

"Well, well, we'll, fancy meeting you here," Murdoc said, his expression one of slippery innocence. "I'd buy you a drink, but I'm meeting a client."

Mac felt one corner of his mouth quirk up even though he hadn't intended it. "Do you buy your clients drinks?"

"Why, yes, I do. I like to show off a bit wining and dining them. A lot of money changes hands. It seems like good manners, don't you think?"

Mac nodded, agreeable. "I'll have the '99 Chateau Ausone. A bottle."

Murdoc's eyes widened. "That's an excellent choice, dear boy, but why would I buy you a $700 bottle of wine? Unless you've finally decided to go rogue and join the dark side." He laughed at the very idea, much as the idea also very much intrigued him. "I'd go a bottle of '59 Dom for that."

"No, but I am the one who contacted you. Or rather Alan Green is."

Mac took out the passport and slid it across the table. In the photo Mac's hair was darker, he was wearing glasses, and there was no trace of his highly recognizable signature smile, but Murdoc couldn't believe Alfonse hadn't seen the resemblance when he'd done the research and made the appointment.

"I need to hire new help," Murdoc observed drily. "Honestly, these days, you just can't get the staff."

He returned Mac's papers to him. Mac tucked the document back into his jacket as Murdoc flagged a server and, to Mac's surprise, ordered the wine he'd mentioned along with two glasses.

"So, you've found me once again. But from the look in those big blue eyes I get the feeling this isn't our usual game of cat and mouse. To what do I owe the pleasure? Although I feel it's pertinent to say that Cassian is quite safe, so you and your guard dogs can't use that as a lever this time, and without him, I've simply no motivation to give you or Phoenix so much as the time of day."

Mac felt himself smile again, but he knew it didn't reach his eyes, knew his face had taken on hard deadly lines by the way Murdoc was looking at him. "Oh, I think you're going to want to talk this time."

"Oh really?" he asked casually, pausing to taste and approve of the wine the sommelier had just delivered. When he nodded, the man who'd brought it to their table poured for both of them, then disappeared like he'd never existed.

Mac took a sip of the exceptionally fine wine. He supposed he had Nikki to thank for his appreciation of wine. His jaw tightened a little when he thought of the other things he had to thank her for. A twinge in the scar from Lake Como that was almost certainly psychosomatic refocused him. "Absolutely. It something you always want to talk about."

Murdoc took another sip of wine. "Do go on," he said, gesturing gracefully with his long fingers that never looked entirely human to Mac.

"I want to talk to you about my father."

Both eyebrows climbed. "Do you? Well, that _is_ something I've been interested in speaking to you about for quite some time."

"Good. I want to know what you know about the KX Project."

Murdoc smiled and if Mac didn't know that Jack was nearby, that Matty had a tac-team only moments away, he would have pushed back from the table. As it was, it felt like he'd swallowed a block of ice.

"In that case, young Angus, you are going to want something stronger to drink."

Murdoc gestured for the server.


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N - I know it's been forever, but this story has not been forgotten. Hope you enjoy the update!_

Mac's head swam.

And ached.

 _Ugh. What the hell happened?_

He realized he had no real memory of … Well, he remembered traveling toward the restaurant in Paris, but …

 _Murdoc._

 _Shit._

He rolled over carefully. He felt beat to hell.

 _Oh, oh no. C'mon, Angus. How many times is this guy gonna get the drop on you?_ His heart took off at a gallop before he even processed how sore all over he was.

He started trying to pry his eyes open over the thudding headache in his forehead. He couldn't try to escape whatever trap Murdoc must've sprung on him if he just lay here feeling sorry for himself.

He'd almost talked himself into moving when he heard the soft click of a door opening and Riley's tentative half-whisper, "Um, Mac? You awake?"

 _Oh, thankyouthankyouthankyou,_ Mac mentally rattled off. To what or who he wasn't sure, but since he wasn't in some new torture chamber of Murdoc's, he was more willing than usual to believe in God … and maybe the tooth fairy and Easter bunny too. Because it felt like a legitimate miracle.

"Yeah," he said softly, wincing at the lancing pain in his head.

He felt the mattress lower under her weight as she sat down next to him. She put a hand on his arm. "I brought you a Gatorade."

He heard her set it down. Finally he peeked his eyes open. Relief that he was in his bedroom at home flooded him. By some additional miracle (possibly one going by the name Riley) the shades were drawn, too. "Thanks," was all he said, starting to force himself up to sitting.

"I'd take it slow if I were you."

Mac ignored her and sat up, careful to keep the blankets pulled up since he was suddenly cognizant of being in just his undershirt and boxer briefs. He pulled his knees up, wrapped his arms around them, and rested his head against them. "What happened?"

He could hear Riley's fond smirk in her reply. "Other than you getting blind drunk on the flight home?"

It was slowly starting to come back to him now. He almost wanted to laugh at himself and if he didn't think that would split his head in two or make him refund roughly a half gallon of … well, based on the taste in his mouth … tequila, he would have. He sat up all the way.

"Yeah. Other than that … Ow," he grumbled at the pain in his head. He started rubbing his temples.

Riley let it go, knowing if she offered to go get him aspirin or anything he'd probably act like she hadn't spoken. It was sort of why she'd come to check on him instead of Jack. Even Matty was kind of in protective Overwatch mode. And she was pretty sure he was going to be extra special layers of guarded and defensive this morning.

"Well," she hedged. "I'm not actually a hundred percent sure. We have some of your conversation with Murdoc."

 _So, I'm remembering that right at least._

"But after about a half hour you took out your comm and put it on the tray of a passing waiter. Jack had eyes on you, so we let it go for forty minutes or so … but …" She stopped, biting her lip and frowning.

"Ri … C'mon."

"Sorry." She flashed him a small smile. The last thing Mac ever wanted to be protected from was the truth. "You got pretty clearly upset about something and you got up and made a move to leave, but Murdoc grabbed your arm and pulled you back. It looked like he had a gun under the table so …"

"So Jack stepped in." Mac was remembering that now, but not why he'd gotten up from the table.

"Well, that, and Matty gave Tactical the green light. Three team members dressed like waitstaff backed Jack up and you all walked out together. Turned out the psycho wasn't armed but none of us wanted to take any chances. Then …"

"I started drinking on the flight home," he recalled ruefully.

"Kept drinking," she amended. "Murdoc kept buying you drinks while you talked and you didn't exactly turn them down."

He nodded, remembering that part through the veil of hangover in a vague way, too.

"The team is pretty curious as to why that was, Mac."

Mac shook his head. "I don't remember."

She nodded, taking in the lines around his eyes that somehow made home look both older and younger all at once. "It must've been something pretty major, since you wouldn't sit anywhere near Murdoc on the flight home. Plus … the way you were knockin' 'em back ... You're lucky you didn't wake up in Medical the way Jack and Matty were looking at you. I talked them out of it when you managed to stagger in here."

"And get out of my drunk clothes," Mac said like it was an accomplishment, then reached out and opened the Gatorade she'd brought him and took a tentative sip. Orange. Riley really was a good friend.

Riley laughed. "You didn't do that yourself."

Mac immediately colored bright pink. "I … um …"

"You wiped out in the hallway. Jack and I got you in here and he got your impromptu frat party clothes off you and into the wash. They needed it," she laughed.

He could only imagine. His mouth tasted like the bottom of the septic tank at a slaughterhouse. _Ugh_. "Sorry."

She blinked. "For what?"

"I …" He sighed. His head was pounding. Why did people ever drink? "For losing control like that and making you guys clean up the mess."

"I think your body is already punishing you enough for that particular decision, Mac. No need to invite your brain to start in, too," she offered with a soft smile.

He returned it as best he could. "Thanks. And you might be right. I feel like hell. The Gatorade is a life saver."

"I'm glad. I figured you'd find it preferable to fluids at Medical. Matty was hard to convince though. Even Jack said he didn't care if you were pissed. He said he's never seen you like that."

Mac grinned a little sheepishly. "Big liar. He's definitely seen me go a little overboard before. Okay, maybe not that overboard. But I've definitely seen him go for full black out."

"And what did you do about that?" Riley asked with a little smirk, already knowing the answer.

Mac shrugged. "It was after Lake Como and he was blaming himself for me catching a bullet. Which was definitely my fault by the way. Mostly I told him I was sorry my bad decisions led him to bad decisions and I more or less begged him to quit the weird Hollywood job he started and come help me get that bioweapon back."

"He got drunk and you apologized, why am I not surprised," she chuckled.

Mac just shook his head with a fond little smile. "Where is Jack anyway?"

Riley got up off the edge of the bed. "Questioning Murdoc."

The fact that he wasn't exactly dressed was the only thing that kept him from leaping out of bed. "At Phoenix?! What if Oversight is monitoring …"

Riley held up her hand. "Out in your living room. After Matty had me sweep the whole block for cameras and listening devices."

He shuddered. Murdoc back in his house made his skin crawl just a little. But it was tempered by the fact that their cover might still be intact as far as Phoenix at large went. "Matty?" he asked, not exactly articulately, taking a longer drink of his sports drink.

"Back at Phoenix, um …"

Mac frowned at her hesitation. "What is it, Ri?"

"She's helping Cage's sister make … um … arrangements for …"

"Oh." Mac swallowed hard. All that had almost been crowded out by Murdoc and the subsequent tequila binge that followed. "That's … I mean, that's good. That sort of thing is really hard."

Riley just nodded like she knew what he meant. "She's also covering our asses on this op."

Mac smiled fondly. Jack watched his ass, Matty covered it. Not a bad arrangement, all things considered. "She always does." He glanced longingly back at his pillow. He'd much rather go back to bed than deal with either this hangover or what he knew was in front of him.

Riley was giving him a very sympathetic look. "Can I get you anything else, Mac? More Gatorade?"

"No thanks. I'm gonna take a shower here in a minute."

She couldn't quite help wanting to wipe the look that she knew meant he was contemplating Sam's funeral off his face. "What's stopping you? The fact that I'm still here and you're in your underwear?" she teased. "Are you wearing the cute blue ones from that op in Dubai under there?"

Mac laughed, shook his head, and chucked one of his pillows across the room. She easily ducked the softly lobbed bedding and slipped out of the room, closing the door behind her.

He sat there for a long minute, sipping his Gatorade and contemplating what could possibly have encouraged him to get drunker than he'd ever been in his life. Even when his grandfather died and Mac had sat on the deck drinking almost an entire bottle of the man's birthday booze, he'd still remembered everything the next day.

He sighed, put down the half empty bottle of Gatorade on his nightstand, and got up to go let a shower beat some of this hangover out of him. His stomach informed him that whatever drinking he'd done, he'd done it without eating, and while the thought of food made his forehead and upper lip break out in a cold slick sweat, as soon as he pulled himself together in here, he was going to make a huge pan of eggs and drink roughly eight pots of coffee.

He leaned against the wall of his shower, letting the water dispel some of the misery and fog he felt, not just in his head but in his whole body. It was like he wasn't just hungover, but that his body and mind were in denial about facing the day.

As the evening before started slowly coming back to him, he swayed under the stream of almost unbearably hot water and gripped the towel rack at the back. He rested his forehead against the tile.

The water beating on him started to cool.

 _Shit._

 _This is all too much._

Another voice joined his in his head. _You think hiding from a problem is a good way to solve it, do you, Gus?_

Mac sighed and mumbled aloud, "Not especially, Harry."

He killed the water, started toweling off, and made up his mind to dress and face the unfaceable. Because whether he was imaginary or not, his grandfather was, as infuriatingly as usual, right.

After a shave and some of the bracing aftershave Leanna and Bozer had given him for his birthday, dressed in what everyone else thought of as his work uniform right down to his boots, he felt almost human.

The feeling lasted until he stepped out of his bedroom and could hear Murdoc's voice sounding more than half amused, and at least as angry, but in a tightly controlled secondary sort of way that anyone but Mac might have missed. But Mac had spent so much time playing every word the guy had ever said to him before this encounter that he was all too familiar with the subtleties of the killer's razor sharp methods of expression.

Mac pretended he didn't see the four security guys circling just outside the house. He also pretended he didn't see Murdoc, or hear him, when he said in his slippery, intimate voice. "Well, well, we'll, so happy you've decided to join us this morning, Angus."

"Morning, Jack," he said to his partner instead and headed toward the kitchen. "Sorry I'm draggin' ass so bad this morning. Ri said I had a pretty serious lapse in impulse control."

"Yeah, you pretty much, did, bud. What're you ..?"

"Coffee," Mac answered and kept going around the corner out of Murdoc's sight.

He poured himself a cup from the mostly full pot and sat down heavily on one of the barstools at the counter. He leaned his head to rest on one hand, debating about getting back up for a couple of Advil, but deciding against it until he could make himself eat something. He heard Jack call one of the security guys from outside and then his familiar step coming around the corner. He half smiled as Jack eased himself onto the stool next to him, his movements so quiet and tentative Mac had half an idea that Jack was afraid he'd break him. Or that he was already broken.

Mac made himself look Jack's way and the lines of concern on the normally affable face made his own split into a real grin. "I'm fine, pal. You don't even have to ask."

"You sure?" Jack smirked. "Cuz I was pretty sure you were gonna pass out or need your stomach pumped or somethin', kid."

"Feels like I maybe should've," he said with another reasonably sincere grin. Then his stomach sort of did a backflip and he groaned, feeling his face go green.

Jack shook his head and got up from the stool. "You want some eggs?"

Mac took another drink of coffee and found his smile again, even if it was a little rueful. "There are a lot of reasons you my best friend, pal."

Jack finally grinned back and started moving around the kitchen, scrambling eggs, dropping some bread in the toaster, and pouring both of them tall glasses of orange juice. With his back to Mac, just continuing to cook the eggs like that was his only purpose coming in getting out of bed, he observed, "I think that's the first time I've ever seen you really and truly loaded, kid."

Mac shrugged, even though Jack wasn't looking at him. "Yeah, probably."

"I figure Captain Crazy Cupcakes musta unloaded something pretty major on that big ole noggin a yours for you to just sail right past okay like that."

"Crazy Cupcakes, Huh?"

"Ah, I'm runnin' outta good stuff to call him."

"What's he told you this morning?" Mac said to counter Jack's fishing expedition. He wasn't ready to say what he was remembering out loud just yet.

"Well, now," Jack began, plating up the eggs and turning to deliver them and the orange juice to his rode-hard-and-put-away-wet looking partner. "He and I have been going round and round most of the night."

"And?" Mac prompted. "What's he saying?"

Jack didn't come back around the counter to sit. Rather he leaned back against the counter and folded his arms, eyeing Mac carefully. "For starters, that the stuff in those files is mostly true."

"Did he offer any qualifiers?"

"Yeah. Yeah, he did." Jack eyes him carefully. "He said you weren't really involved. Well, you were, but not like we thought."

Mac nodded. "And?"

"He said your old man was part of the program, but …" He stopped and frowned at Mac. If he hadn't already heard this, Jack wasn't sure he wanted to be the one to break it to the kid. One of Mac's eyebrows went up, but since he was also shoveling in eggs like it was his job, Jack decided to go on. "He also said your dad was trying to put the breaks on the operation once the higher ups started to bring kids into it. He … He said." Jack stopped again.

Mac put down his fork, took a swallow of orange juice, and locked eyes with Jack. "He said my dad brought me in at all, because he wanted to show them you didn't need to drug people to get exceptional outcomes with them. I was his example of what brains and education and challenging kids was capable of."

"Well," Jack nodded. "Yeah. Yeah. It sounds to me like maybe your dad was trying to be one of the good guys, kid."

Mac shook his head and sighed. "He still lied to me Jack. Still left me. And ultimately he brought me into that program without my knowledge or consent and let them …" His voice cracked, but he pushed on anyway. "No, _made them_ test me. Because it proved his point, got him what he wanted." Mac sighed again, finally getting up and getting himself some Advil and swallowing it with some orange juice. Then he leaned against the counter next to Jack and stuffed his hands in his pockets, looking at the floor. "Besides, he can't say the project didn't make me what I am."

"What do you mean, Mac?" Jack asked, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Mac didn't look up. "Murdoc told me my mother was a participant in the project. She met my dad there when he was still actively part of the research … When she was in college. The CIA recruited college kids for that stuff all the time in the 70's and 80's. Anywhere they could hide it in a psych department or medical school. Kids at college are always desperate for cash. I was never tempted, but I had friends at MIT sign up for experiments the biology and psych departments were running more than once to make a quick buck."

"Yeah? So?"

"So whatever they did to her might've, you know, been responsible for me being what my dad was trying to prove meant you didn't need it."

"Why would it have had anything to do with how you turned out, kid?" Jack's hand tightened to a reassuring squeeze on his shoulder.

"Because I know it was still in her system when she was pregnant with me, if what Murdoc said is true."

"How do you know that, Mac?"

Finally Mac turned his head to look at Jack. "Because Murdoc said the KX formulas all have one thing in common."

Mac's eyes had taken on a hard shine that said he was either fighting back tears or blindingly pissed off. "What's that, bud?"

"They all kill you. The early ones didn't give you a heart attack though, just slowly mutated your cells. Eventually those mutated cells forgot to turn themselves off and the subjects, most of them anyway …" Mac heard his emotions in his voice then and clamped down on them. "The subjects all got cancer."

"So, your dad … oh, Mac, buddy, I'm so so sorry, man."

Mac shook his head. His jaw tightened painfully and the tight hold he'd been keeping on himself slipped with his admission and Jack's reassurance. Tears spilled out of the corners of both eyes and he yanked his hands out of his pockets to swipe at them.

Before he could stop him, Jack pulled him into a bone crushing hug. He appreciated it even though it made it even harder not to just sink down onto the kitchen floor and sob over the idea that even though he clearly hadn't meant to, his father had been at least partially responsible for his mother's death.

He hugged his partner back until he'd managed to level out his breathing and force his eyes to stop leaking. Then he pulled away and nodded his thanks for the support.

Jack still looked like he thought Mac might burst into real tears or keel over. While Mac wasn't entirely sure he wasn't going to do either one or both he managed a small smile at his partner's concern. "Thanks, Jack. I'm alright. For now anyway."

Jack nodded like he really believed him. "Binge drinking aside, you're handling this pretty well, Mac."

Mac shook his head. "I think I'm still a little numb, a little unsure about whether Murdoc is telling the truth. And if he is, what does that really mean for me, or my father?"

"Speaking of His High and Nuttiness, where's he fit into all this, into the KX program, the CIA research. And why the hell does he have such an axe to grind with you? Or your old man?"

"He didn't get that far. But if he was in the experiments … that means he should probably be sick or dead already. Unless there's more to this." A corner of Mac's mouth quirked up in an almost cool smirk. It was not an expression Jack saw him wear often. "Let's go ask him."

Jack just followed Mac toward the living room. He had a feeling things were about to go from bad to worse.


	9. Chapter 9

Mac couldn't make himself sit.

He didn't feel much like pacing either. He still felt like he might puke, in total undignified hungover fashion. Gatorade and Jack's good greasy eggs notwithstanding.

So instead of anything that might have been natural to anyone else, Mac decided on just doing what felt natural to him. He looked around for his dish of paperclips, but he must've moved it from its usual spot. Maybe last night during his ill advised binge.

He leaned against the nearest lintel and jammed his hands in his pockets. "So, I'm being stupid? Fine. I feel pretty stupid right now." He nearly smirked at Murdic's reaction to that. "Enlighten me."

"I'd never accuse you of being stupid, _Angus_."

Mac blinked slowly and shook his head. "You can call me Mr. MacGyver, Agent MacGyver, MacGyver, even Mac if you want. But don't act like we're really on a first name basis."

"I thought you liked to be called Angus," he sneered. "It's what _Daddy_ calls you. I imagine it's what Mommy called …"

Something in Mac snapped then. Before Jack could react, almost before anyone knew what was happening, Mac launched himself at Murdoc, knocking over the chair where the killer was handcuffed.

The next thing Mac knew, two of the security guys were shoving him into his own room and closing the door. "Stay put," the bigger one, who Mac vaguely recalled shared the currently unacceptable name Jim, said firmly.

Mac nodded, because he thought if he opened his mouth to say anything it would be to shout at them to get out of his way so he could go back to the living room where he was going to, by God, beat some answers out of Murdoc, and maybe make sure the killer never said his first name, nor spoke about his mother again. He was still shaking with furious adrenaline, but he supposed separating him from Murdoc was the right thing to do.

He paced for a few minutes, then finally sat on the edge of his bed with a frustrated sigh.

He was breathing hard, like at the end of the final hill on his long run. Both his hands were bleeding from the knuckles.

It occurred to him that he'd been pummeling Murdoc and some of that blood might belong to him. He got up abruptly and went into the attached bathroom to wash his hands. He was applying some antiseptic to a few minor lacerations when he heard his door open and close.

"I'll be right out, Jack," he said, guessing as to who had joined him.

"You clean those real good?" came from the doorway to the bathroom, confirming that his guess was correct. "Bastard probably has … I don't know … You think you can catch crazy?"

Mac glanced over at his partner and flashed a little less than half a smile. "I'm pretty sure I'm good. The Phoenix vaccine protocol doesn't miss much. Crazy's gotta be in there somewhere, right?"

Jack chuckled. "You're probably right on that one, bud." He paused. "So other than remembering why I'm the knuckles of this operation, you doin' okay?"

Mac nodded and sort of gently shouldered past Jack to go sit on his bed. He closed his eyes and let out a long, slow breath. Jack's weight settled next to him, but not overly close. Mac sighed. Jack was here to see if he was alright. Sure. That was a given. But he was also here to find out what had pushed Mac's 'nuclear option' so thoroughly.

Mac cleared his throat, but didn't open his eyes. "I … I remembered something he said last night … Sorry I flipped out like that, pal."

"You feel like tellin' me what you remembered?"

"Not especially," Mac answered with another feeble attempt at a smile. He opened his eyes. "But I will."

Jack shifted to better see Mac's expression. "You need anything?" he asked, giving Mac room to stall if he wanted to.

The smile that accompanied the headshake was fractionally more genuine. "He said that last night. The thing about my name. My mom."

"Alright. Butcha didn't beat his ass last night. What was different today?"

Mac cleared his throat again and took a slightly unsteady breath. "What he said after. I didn't want to hear it again."

"You don't …"

"That was what my mother called me." His jaw clenched. "And Murdoc knew it, because apparently my father said so in front of him."

"Your old man talked about you with his test subjects?"

Mac shook his head. "I don't know about that, but he certainly talked to me when I was in the same room."

"Jesus."

"My father did involve me in experiments. Made me compete with test subjects."

Jack reached out to touch Mac's shoulder, then stopped and let his hand fall back to his side. Mac looked like he'd jump out of his skin if anyone touched him right now.

"That's why Murdoc is always so hot to prove he's smarter than me, better than me. Because I was eight or nine when my father kept throwing in his face that I was outshining him."

Jack swallowed hard. That would actually explain a lot. But even though James had most assuredly rubbed him the wrong way, and even though he still wanted to break the man's jaw for leaving Mac, for … well, for a lot of things … he had a hard time believing any father would do that sort of thing to their kid. Especially when their kid was Angus MacGyver.

"Mac, buddy, you know how much Coocoo for Cocoa Puffs likes messin' with you …"

Mac shook his head again. "I wish that's what this was, Jack. But I remember. The room … it was painted pale green. Same color as the uniform Murdoc was wearing. Looked like pajamas. There were games, puzzles, engineering challenges … And I just … I played along. It seemed like a game."

His hands rubbed back and forth over his forearms like he was cold.

"That seemed a lot more normal than other stuff he'd drag me away from home for. He was really intense about my health. Dragged me to the doctor all the time. Like how many eight year olds that don't have a serious illness are subjected to regular blood work?" Mac sighed heavily. "When I was younger, I thought it was because my mom died and he didn't want to lose me, too. But now I know. He wanted to show the scientists he worked with how superior I was. I was a little kid!"

Anger, sadness, and a little bit of fear about what else he might remember bled through his efforts to keep it together.

This time Jack did reach out and squeeze his partner's shoulder. Mac didn't jump. Instead he reached up and put a hand over Jack's. It was a gesture of both appreciation and of reassurance.

"Murdoc also said the reason my father was in such a twist to catch Walsh is that he knows there's a way to use the current KX research to reverse the damage to people's cells the early experiments caused."

"How's he know that, bud?"

"Because Murdoc got cancer. Just like my mom. And the Organization cured him with some of Walsh's formula. It didn't work to make super soldiers, but it fixed the damage from the earlier formulations."

"But … your mom already … What difference does it make to your father now? He didn't think you might get sick, too, after all this time, did he?"

Mac sighed and glanced at Jack. He shook his head. "I don't think he's ever been worried about me. It's … Because he's sick now too."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, kid."

"What's worse is that he put me on the line for his own gain again in Mexico, just like he did when I was a little kid."

"That's pretty bad, kid. What do you …?"

"I want to find him, ask him if it's true."

"That's all well and good, but we been tryin' to find him."

"Yeah, but we didn't have Murdoc."

"What good's That gonna do us about that."

"I remember something else from last night."

"What's that, kid?"

"Murdoc knows where he is."

"You sure that isn't just another one of his weird lies?"

"He said he's been working for my father."

"You …?"

"I believe him."

"Well, let's go ask him where we're headin' next."

Mac stood. "Yeah."


	10. Chapter 10

"So Angus," Murdoc oiled when they came back into the room. He smirked when Mac bit back his desire to take the killer's head off this time. "I take it you've come to the appropriate conclusions. Or do I need to go over the relevant information again?"

Mac took a breath and blinked like he was trying to get something out of his eyes. Jack recognized the expression as Mac remembering something important and possibly unpleasant. Then Mac appeared to make a decision. He sat down on the couch, almost managing to look casual. Jack stayed on his feet, eyeing the two of them warily.

Murdoc opened his mouth to speak again, but Mac beat him to it. "No, I know exactly what you want. You want us to take you with us to go find my father. Don't you, _Dennis_?"

This time Murdoc blinked in surprise. "You _do_ remember me! Here I've been thinking I didn't make an impression."

Jack saw Mac blink quickly almost like someone had tried to strike him but his expression was back to the slightly hard, carefully guarded one that had become familiar over the last few days. _Walls up._ Jack had almost forgotten what that looked like since Mac left Phoenix.

Mac nodded slowly. "You certainly did. Enough of an impression that there's no way you're going with us. So much so that I've been blocking it out completely."

Murdoc smirked. "Not too completely, dear _Angus_. I've seen the fear in your eyes a few times. At least part of you remembers."

This time Mac swallowed and shifted just a fraction. He did remember now. Vividly. At least one encounter. No wonder being on Murdoc's radar always made him feel like a scared kid. "Well, you don't scare me now. I'm not eight. Little kids are easy to scare." Then he forced a mean smile onto his face. "But not to beat. At least not in your case, apparently."

Something in Murdoc's eyes flashed and he shifted forward like he'd get up. Even though the killer was cuffed to the chair, Mac flinched, and despite what he'd just said he knew Murdoc saw fear flicker over his face. He froze for a second with glaring, paralyzing memory.

 _Angus felt eyes on him._

 _He glanced up from the code game he'd been working on. It wasn't a hard one. Well … it was a little hard. He didn't think Wilt would like it. But once he'd figured out the letters corresponded to numbers and the numbers were tied into the Fibonacci Sequence it went rather quickly. He figured his father was watching him work. Dad did that sometimes when he brought Angus here "to play"._

 _Dad wasn't looking at him though. He was watching the man sitting at the other table. The man was watching Angus though. And Angus didn't like the way he was looking at him one bit._

 _He didn't say anything though. You didn't just say stuff to adults like that. It made them mad. Except Gramps. You could say just about anything you wanted to Harry and he didn't get mad. Which was a good thing. Angus just didn't "get" people sometimes. He figured maybe this was one of those times. He refocused on his work, trying to ignore the man staring at him._

 _After a few minutes, he could hear the scratch of the man's pencil on his own paper again. Angus didn't understand why this guy was so grumpy about this code breaking game. Then again, Angus reasoned, Dad probably didn't promise to take him to the science museum if he played._

 _After another few minutes, Mac put down his pencil. He was grinning from ear to ear. "Done!" he said proudly and looked expectantly at his father._

 _James turned to him and cocked an eyebrow. "The proof is in the pudding, son. What does the code say?"_

 _Mac grinned more broadly. "It's a poem. A funny one: Oh, if you're a bird, be an early bird_

 _And catch the worm for your breakfast plate._

 _If you're a bird, be an early early bird-_

 _But if you're a worm, sleep late." He laughed a little carefree child's giggle. "And it says early birds get to pick the restaurant after trips to the museum."_

" _That they do, son," James said with clear approval. He turned to the man. "Well, Dennis, what does yours say?"_

 _The man was staring at Angus again, but this time Angus looked right back at him, curious about what secret message he'd gotten in the game._

 _The young man flipped the paper away from himself. "It says …" He looked at Angus again. Then continued in a tone that gave the little boy pause. "Well honestly I have no idea at the moment but I'm guessing it's not a cutsie self congratulatory poem. And no matter what some people are told about being little birdies, I know worms when I see them."_

 _This time, Angus's impulsive side took over. That was mean! "Hey! It's not my fault you couldn't break the code!"_

 _James looked on coolly. "Why don't you enlighten our friend Dennis, Angus. What was the secret to unlocking the coded alphabet?"_

 _Still feeling a little defensive, but also really pleased that he'd solved the puzzle and had a new type of code to try to teach Wilt the next time they met at The Lab, he smiled at his dad._

" _The Fibonacci numbers. I knew it because the clue was phi." He looked almost sympathetically at Dennis. "See phi is also known as the golden ratio. It's the solution to a quadratic equation but what's cool about it is it represents sort of perfect visual balance in a pattern. And the Fibonacci numbers are …"_

 _Angus found himself flat on his back, crushed under the heavy weight of an angry man, with the sharp end of a pencil pressed against his temple._

" _Oh, Angus. You should have slept late this morning my little worm. Because Daddy brought you to tangle with a raptor."_

 _Angus could feel his heart hammering against his ribs like there was a hummingbird trapped in his chest. The man's knee was crushing his whole torso. The man pressed the pencil harder against the soft flesh of his temple. "Ow! Let me go! Let me go!"_

 _He could hear the man saying other things, could sort of hear his dad, and other sounds, too, but the blood was rushing in his ears, and he was crying a little, gasping for breath, and trying to struggle his way free, even though it just made everything hurt worse._

 _The pain in his head became unbearable. He wrenched his hand free and grabbed at the pencil. He must have surprised the man because he was able to get ahold of it. He didn't mean to, but he thought he maybe he stabbed the man in the leg. He was just trying to get it away from his head but he heard a feral scream over the blood in his head._

 _And suddenly, the crushing weight was gone, cool air flowed around him again, and he could breathe. His hand went immediately to his head and it came away sticky with blood. He pressed his hand back against it hard and started crying in earnest._

 _Moments like these, when he was hurt or scared, made him want his mother back more than anything. He wanted to just be bundled into her arms and comforted, maybe sung to, and given a bandaid and maybe a popsicle, and held until he felt better. What he got instead was picked up and sat in the nearest unbroken chair by his dad. "It's alright, Angus. You're okay. Let me see."_

 _His father tried to pry his hand away but Mac wouldn't let him. "No!" He shook his head. He was sobbing so hard it was like his breath couldn't even get out, say nothing about a more articulate sentence about not wanting to be hurt more._

 _Fortunately, James has spent a lot of time observing his son and could read that in his expression and body language. "Angus, I'm not going to hurt you and he's not going to hurt you anymore either. My friends took him away. Just take a deep breath."_

 _Angus tried but it was just a gasp. Then that started to scare him too. He panicked just a little. "I ccccccant!"_

" _Gus, hey, it's alright pal, c'mon, breathe for me."_

 _His mom had been the only one to ever call him Gus. Hearing it calmed him down almost immediately. Then he looked around and saw Dennis was really gone. "O-o-o-kkkay." He hitched in another breath, a little more smoothly this time. "I … I'm okay," he said, regaining a bit of his usual childlike self-assurance. His dad liked for him to be okay. He didn't like to see him cry._

" _Good man!" His father gave him a smile of real approval. "Can you let me see where he hurt you now?"_

 _Angus didn't take his hand away yet. "Why did he hurt me? Why was he mad about the game?"_

" _I think he was upset that you were so good at it and he wasn't."_

 _Angus almost smiled at how proud of him his dad sounded. But his brow creased before he got that far. He was starting to be a little mad about what happened. Angus hated bullies. A lot. "Yeah, well, I'm not ever gonna let a guy like that beat me at anything."_

" _Good boy," James said with a grin. "You ready to let me look at your face."_

" _Um … "_

" _We could just let our buddy Dr. Evans have a look instead …"_

" _Daaa-aaad," Angus complained. He hated how much his dad made a big deal out of him being sick or hurt. He did NOT need to go to the doctor all the time. Eventually his dad would see that. Angus would just make sure of that. "It's not that bad!"_

" _Well?" James prompted._

 _Angus huffed a little sigh. "Fine."_

 _He took his hand away, hiding that it was shaking by letting it drop to his lap. James could be a gruff person and wasn't particularly prone to affection, but when Angus closed his eyes, his father's hands were gentle, turning his head and pressing a tissue to the puncture near his hairline._

" _I don't want to disappoint you Gus, but I think maybe we should let Dr. Evans have a look at you anyway."_

 _Angus opened his eyes to scowl at his father, and sniffed back the last of his tears. Now that it was all over and mean crazy Dennis wasn't in the room, Angus was ready to move on. "But what about the science museum and going out to eat?" James half smiled at his son's practical question. His face broke into a grin, when the question was followed up with a strident, "You promised!"_

 _James shook his head and stood, holding out his hand. "I did. So we'll tell her to be quick picking out a bandaid, okay?"_

 _James was actually more worried about the little fellow getting thrown to the floor in a flying tackle than what amounted to a paper cut on the angusmacgyverinjuryscale, but selling him on a bandaid was easier in the moment than telling him he'd be putting up with X-rays._

 _Angus took his hand somewhat reluctantly, but got to his feet with a groan. "I guess. But I'm getting ice cream after dinner."_

 _It was stated as a demand but he looked up at his dad to see if it was accepted._

 _James chuckled. "I'll even spring from that brownie Sunday you always want."_

 _Angus beamed. Everything was okay then. He'd put up with Dr. Evans fussing a little and then he'd get the day out his dad promised. Maybe he could even talk him into going to the planetarium on the way home._

 _A little while later, a slightly disgruntled due to a ridiculous amount of fussing Angus was heading out of the building with his father. He got a Toy Story bandaid and a cream soda dumdum out of the deal, so he wasn't too upset. But x rays were the worst. Didn't doctors know holding still for that long was almost impossible._

 _He was about to say so to his dad, and maybe try to finagle Wilt or Penny being able to go out with them, when he stopped abruptly, feeling the weight of a stare on him again. He turned and Dennis was standing in the hallway with a big man in a uniform of some kind. He looked sort of like a policeman, but the clothes weren't quite right._

 _Dennis saw him looking and smiled. The expression made Angus hug his father's leg. Then he stopped himself and pulled away. His dad didn't like it when he did baby stuff like that._

" _Come on, son," James encouraged, steering Angus by the shoulders._

" _Oh my yes,_ _ **Angus**_ _, be sure to do what Daddy tells you. He likes being the boss." Angus glanced at him again. "He's probably going to dock my pay for this morning."_

 _Angus started walking again, quickly, just wanting to be out from under those dark eyes. James stride ahead to keep up. "That's enough, Dennis."_

 _Dennis ignored him. "See you again soon, little worm."_

Mac gasped as he came back to himself. The perfect detail of the memory, right down to the smell of the disinfectant in the room, and the peculiar yellow quality of the lights, the flare of pain in his temple, took his breath away for a moment. He shuddered and felt Jack lean toward him. "You okay, kid?"

Mac nodded firmly. "I'm fine." He refocused on Murdoc. "And I've changed my mind. I think I want to take you with us. It'll give me time to ask you more about why you'd bully a little kid like that."

"Like what, Angus?"

Mac scowled and it was an expression that anyone who had known eight year old him would have recognized. "You know what." Mac unconsciously reached up and rubbed his temple.

"He bullied you when you were a little kid?" Jack asked in a tone that left no doubt what he'd like to do about that.

Mac nodded, still staring at Murdoc. Then he looked at Jack and gave him a halfhearted reassuring smile. "I ought to let Boze take care of him for me. He always hated anyone who'd bully me."

Jack forced himself to grin back. Mac needed a minute's worth of normal, well, normal for them. "Yeah, I bet Boze would like to bust him in that ugly mug anyway."

Mac's smile became a fraction more genuine. "I bet Boze would like to take him apart with my Swiss Army knife by now."

"Alright, friends, let's not talk about me like I'm a piece of furniture. I had my reasons, Angus, and they actually had your best interests at heart. So before you call in Double-oh-negative or whatever charming Wilt is calling himself these days, I do hope you'll use our impending road trip to find out what those reasons were. And why I'm still working for Papa Bear."

Mac was about to answer, but was interrupted by Riley clearing her throat from the entryway. "Sorry to interrupt. But I finally found something on Cage's laptop."

Everyone looked at her expectantly.

"You're going to want to see it before you go anywhere."


	11. Chapter 11

It was getting dark and people were starting to turn on their headlights. Mac blinked hard a couple of times at the oncoming lights.

"I'd be happy to drive, if your poor decisions have left you with a lingering headache, Angus."

"Shut up."

"We could make him sit back here, Mac," Jack said from the back seat.

Mac glanced at his partner in the mirror. "I have no interest in having our pal Dennis here behind me."

"I could drive," Jack offered.

"Kind of want the guy with the nine milimeter to have both hands free. You know," he eyes flicked to Murdoc. "In case he decides he wants to alter our arrangement."

"Angus, I'm hurt." Murdoc shifted in his seat to hold up his zip tied wrists. "Besides, I'm clearly harmless."

"I don't think that'd be true even if we knocked you out, _Dennis_."

"Oh, I see what this is about. I'm sorry, _MacGyver_. I'll behave."

Mac smirked and rolled his eyes. "I appreciate that, Murdoc." He glanced at Jack in the mirror again and saw him looking at his phone. "Anything more from Ri?"

"Nothin' yet, kid." What he didn't tell his partner was that he had heard from Matty. And Mac wasn't going to like it. But he also wasn't going to hear about it until they stopped again.

"Then what does Matty say?" Mac asked with a wry twist of his lips.

Kid was too damned perceptive for his own good. "That she should have had Boze come with us to drive if your stubborn ass insists on going all the way to the cabin in NorCal tonight with the world's most epic hangover."

"Nice try, Jack. And I'm fine thanks to your greasy eggs, pal." He paused. "So what is it really?"

"Not now, kid." He cleared his throat significantly.

"Ooo," Murdoc exclaimed dramatically, attempting to rub his hands together, but losing the effect to the restraints. "More secrets. When it comes to the MacGyver clan, those are my favorite thing."

Jack started to get defensive but Mac turned on the blinker and merged onto an exit boasting a full service rest area. "Might as well ruin your night by not keeping them. Riley found out that Sam didn't leave Phoenix because you shot her."

"Ah, so you discovered her illness then."

The Jeep was silent as Mac pulled into the truck stop parking lot. When he slid the car into park, he turned to Murdoc. "So you knew she was sick."

"Before she did, actually. I wasn't trying to kill her, Angus … I'm sorry, _Mac_. I knew there was one way she'd learn exactly what the project had done to her. They discovered her cancer while she was in surgery."

"Did my father …?"

"He didn't know she was sick. He didn't know _he_ was sick."

Mac swallowed hard. Murdoc confirmed what Mac thought he'd remembered. His father was sick, too. Jack jumped in, "If he didn't know, whydja shoot'er then? Just freelancin'?"

"Oh, no, that was on orders. He wanted to bring her back into the program. His version of it anyway. If she was hurt enough not to be able to work, she'd be willing to try some of the experiments he was still working on. Enhanced health, speedier recovery, better performance." Murdoc smiled his shark's smile and it gave Jack the shivers. "He'd brought her in to test your abilities against hers. To see if as an adult you were still so superior to his experiments. And she was so determined to show him how worthy she was. As usual, you came out on top at every turn and on top of that adopted her into your little family."

"How did you know she was sick?" There was a flatness in Mac's voice that Jack didn't much like, but at least he was talking.

"Pure conjecture on my part. But I recognized the signs from my own experience. The increasingly gaunt appearance, obvious fatigue … you'd have eventually noticed it, too. Even though you were very young when you lost dear Ellen, you would have made the connection to poor Sammy's decline."

Mac wasn't looking at either of them, was just staring out the window into the gathering dark. "Why did you kill her?"

"Angus!" Murdoc exclaimed, forgetting himself. "I most certainly did _not_ kill our Miss Cage … Kelly … However you prefer to think of her. But I have an idea who did."

"Nikki," Mac breathed, and Murdoc had a brief unsettling moment where he felt like Mac must be reading his mind. Then his voice dropped even lower. "But why?"

"Mac, buddy, let's go get you a coffee. Murdoc'll be just fine right here for a few."

"But what if I want a coffee too?"

"I'll bring ya one, if you sit tight and don't move. If you do move you get a bullet instead of light and sweet caffeine. Capice?"

An elaborate sigh. "I suppose."

Jack didn't wait beyond that, just climbed out of the Jeep and closed the door. Mac followed him a second later. "So … Matty?"

Jack leaned against the Jeep and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Why don't you go grab some coffees? I'll stay here and keep an eye on Captain Crazypants."

"Jack," Mac said with the hint of a warning.

Jack sighed and Mac was amused into a half smirk when it was nearly as dramatic as Murdoc's.

"I'm guessing she found a connection to Nikki. And you don't want to tell me because in your mind I've already got enough on my plate. And … maybe I also practically drank myself into alcohol poisoning so you're worried I'm cracking under the weight of it already." The smirk shifted into a smile. "That about cover it?" He leaned against the Jeep next to Jack, putting his own hands into his jacket pockets in what almost passed for a genuinely casual gesture.

Jack bumped Mac's shoulder with his own. "Pretty much, yeah. Little shit."

"What'd she find?"

Jack sighed, but it wasn't for Mac's benefit this time. He was just tired. Of all of this.

 _Imagine how Mac feels about it, Dalton._

"You're right about a connection to Nikki."

"And …" Mac gestured for Jack to keep talking.

"Well," Jack paused again. Mac cocked an eyebrow at him. "Nikki had been in touch with Sam."

Mac nodded. "What about?"

"You sure you don't want to go grab some coffee?"

"About what?" he pressed.

Jack grimaced. "It looks like she might have been working for Oversight … trying to get Sam to agree to come back, to talk to him about the project."

Mac sighed. "What else?"

"Well … It also looks like Sam was definitely brought in by Oversight to test the team, to … well, to try to separate us I guess."

"Mmmm," Mac mumbled. Murdoc had hinted at that for sure. And Mac had suspected that, at least at first, Sam had been trying to split up their team. Or at least the him and Jack part of it. "You mean she was supposed to replace you."

Jack shrugged. "Maybe. Yeah. But your old man put us together … why would he …?"

"He couldn't manipulate you. And let's face it, you haven't exactly encouraged me to toe the line much. Kinda the opposite actually." Mac snickered. "Which I appreciate the hell out of, by the way."

"Yeah, well there's more …"

"Just spit it out Jack. Then again I'll go buy us some coffee."

"The bullet that took out Cage matches the ones from Switzerland."

"Huh." Mac's brow creased. "So Nikki killed the doctor, killed Samantha … And she said she worked for Oversight … This is making less and less sense all the time." He took his hands out of his pockets and pushed off from the side of the Jeep. "You want that gross chocolate syrup stuff in your coffee?"

Jack wanted to ask what Mac was thinking, if he was okay, what he needed. But that wasn't what Mac wanted or needed at the moment. "Usually. And if, you know, you slipped like a whole box of laxative into Murdoc's cup, I'll never tell."

Mac snorted laughter. "Not in my Jeep, pal. It's suffered enough indignities the last six months or so."

Jack chuckled and climbed back into the Jeep.

"Well, now. Jack, old friend, I was just thinking …"

"No."

"You don't know what I was going to say."

"Don't need to. Just no."

"I just wanted to see what you thought of me telling young Angus why I came after you all to begin with. Why I let him believe Nikki hired me."

"Okay. Keep talkin'."

"Well, now I'm not certain that I want to. Since you were so rude, you obviously don't want to hear it."

Jack leaned forward in his seat until his head was almost next to Murdoc's. He spoke quietly. "You're right. I don't much want to hear any damned thing you have to say. And I'd be just as happy to take your head right off your shoulders by splattering you brains all over this windshield. But … couple things. For one I want to know what's really going on with Oversight. Two, Mac needs to know, needs to get passed all this crap so he can live his life. And three … Well, getting the Jeep detailed is pretty spendy. Not sure I want to shell out for that just because you know how to push my buttons."

Mac pulled the door open just as Murdoc opened his mouth to say something else cutting. Mac could see the dark, slightly menacing expression in Jack's eyes as well as the half amused half concerned look in Murdoc's. Mac just smirked and shook his head. "Quit it. Both of you."

He handed Jack a coffee and a small bag of donuts. He passed a coffee into Murdoc's bound hands. "No idea how you take yours, so you got it black. It seemed like a good bet."

"How did you know?" Murdoc beamed, looking almost genuinely touched.

"I read a study that suggests an embrace of bitter flavors is potentially tied to secondary psychopathy." Mac grinned. "Also, it's how I prefer mine."

"Really?" Murdoc took a sip and grimaced. Gas station coffee.

Mac shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe I've decided I like playing games too."

Murdoc _humphed._ "And here I was going to …"

"Screw with my head some more? I think I'll pass."

"Wouldn't you like to know if Nikki and I were actually working together?"

Mac nodded as he backed the Jeep out of the parking lot. "I would. But I don't trust you to tell me the truth. And I'm honestly still hungover enough that I'm not sure I have the patience for it."

Mac pulled back out onto the highway. Murdoc was staring at his profile, clearly fascinated. Something had changed between last night on the plane when MacGyver had basically pulled a Dalton and climbed into a bottle to avoid dealing with his reality. This wasn't just the reserve he'd come to expect. He could tell Dalton noticed it, too. "Well, then? How do you propose to find out?"

Mac took a way too old to be eaten greasy bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich out of the small bag he'd dropped on the console and took a highly satisfying salty bite, chewed, and swallowed. "By doing exactly what we left LA for to begin with. I'm going to ask my father. With you there. And I'll know if you're telling the truth when I see you together."

"What if you decide one or both of us isn't?" Murdoc asked casually.

Mac took another bite of his sandwich. He answered after a sip of coffee. "I'll do what Jack has been itching for since all this started."

He heard Jack's grin in his answer. "Oh, hell yeah. I've wanted to question these two for … well, a good long while now."

"Question?"

"Question, torture. You know, whatever."

"Angus, I don't believe you'd actually support that for even a second."

"We should be at the cabin site in about an hour. You'll have your chance to talk then. But …"

"But what Angus?"

"I'd suggest you make up your mind to be honest for a change." He sighed. "Because Jack is serious. And I don't know if I am."

"Of course you're n…"

"No, Murdoc. I used to be. I was always sure those methods were wrong. I was always sure we needed to find better ways, that killing was never justified and … I guess maybe that's what happened last night. I realized I don't know anymore."

Neither Jack nor Murdoc said anything and Mac just eased his foot more firmly onto the accelerator as he tossed the half rated sandwich into the bag. He couldn't eat. And it had nothing to do with the lingering effects of his over indulgence.

"I really don't know."


End file.
